Between the Thames and the Tiber (15 page)

“How on earth did you know that?” replied Wagner in surprise.

“No matter. As a doctor, I must pay attention to details.”

“Yes, I have always done so. It has been one of my peculiar habits, Dr. Watson. I rule my own paper and write the first drafts of my compositions myself. It is only when they are completed to my satisfaction that I send them to a copyist who prepares the version for printing. The ink is wonderful. It has a sweet taste at first, but then it leaves me with the taste of sour milk in my mouth.”

At the end of the meal, we returned to the drawing room, where Liszt sat at the great Erard and played almost without stop for two hours. He began with the Chopin
Fantaisie-Polonaise
, following it with several etudes by the same composer.

Then, at Cosima’s request, Liszt played his own transcriptions of Wagner’s operas, those of
Tristan und Isolde
and
Tannhäuser
. He followed this with some of his arrangements of the songs of Schubert and Schumann. The last, a song called
Widmung
, or Dedication, left Wagner and his wife in tears.

Then, again at Cosima’s request, Herr Wagner stood up and announced that, if Herr Liszt were willing to accompany him, he would sing parts of his last opera,
Parsifal
. Liszt agreed without hesitation, and so they began.

I sat across the room staring at these three people—Wagner, Liszt, and Madame Wagner, transfixed by the music. Later that evening Holmes told me that it was then that he knew that the violin would forever remain nothing more than an avocation, for the realisation came that he could never venture into the celestial realms of music that we were fortunate to enter that night. Liszt, whom I had heard in performance in London, outdid himself by the sheer beauty of his playing. And despite his infirmities, Wagner sang beautifully and strongly. Who, after all, could have sung Parsifal more convincingly than he?

When it was over, there was a silence, then quiet words of praise from Cosima, Joukovsky, and the two doctors. Herr Wagner announced that he was exhausted and wished to retire. He left on Cosima’s arm, and after a few moments we all went to our rooms.

Our work had only begun, however. Shortly after we entered our quarters, there was a knock. It was Liszt. Holmes bade him enter and said quietly, “Your suspicions are correct. Unless I am sadly misled by his symptoms, Wagner has been poisoned. The effects of small repeated doses of arsenic are obvious, but I suspect the use of at least three others. I am afraid also that the damage has been done and that he may not live much longer.”

I told Liszt that to make absolutely sure we would have to perform certain tests.

Liszt flung his hands up in despair. “Richard will agree to no tests. I had hoped that I was wrong. Are you sure?” he asked.

“Not completely, but all the signs are there. Who is the doctor?”

“A man named Kurz,” said Liszt, “but he is away and will not return for several weeks.”

“Then there is nothing to be done except for Hopkins here to examine him thoroughly. And for us to find the source of the poison immediately.”

“I shall aid you in any way I can.”

“Who else, besides those of us who attended dinner this evening, lives here?”

“Just the servants, whom you have met. They are people I have known for many years. They are simple folk with no grievances.”

“And Joukovsky?”

“Beyond reproach. He is devoted to both Cosima and Richard. And besides, he is a very recent acquaintance.”

“Then the source is outside, but the poison enters and is administered to him.”

“But how?”

“I have one idea, but it is only a possibility. Before I pursue it, I must explore the house. I must be able to do it without interruption or fear of discovery. I also wish to disclose what I know to Herr Wagner himself. Perhaps he knows who would hate him enough to kill him.”

Liszt’s face grew grave for a moment. Then he replied: “You may proceed as you like with your inspection. I shall tell Cosima. On the other point, however, I think that it would be useless. Richard is very unbalanced when it comes to his enemies, and he will try to fill your head with irrational accusations. He began to create enemies in his youth, and he has never ceased doing so. In his early days, he was a rude, excitable Saxon, and he attacked people in fits of anger if he did not get what he wished. Sometimes he attacked them in print, signing the articles with a pseudonym. He also borrowed money from countless people and never returned it. He seduced the wives of his friends, insulted the most powerful musicians in Europe like Spontini and Meyerbeer, and has never ceased to show contempt for anyone to whom he took a dislike. Were you to tell him that he was the victim of someone’s poison, you would do no good and would ruin Cosima’s life, since he would confide in her immediately. Please, Monsieur Holmes, I implore you, on this point, please follow my advice. If, as you think, Richard does not have long to live, let him die in peace without the knowledge that his life has been taken from him. I want to know who the culprit is, and I want that person punished if possible, but I prefer to let my friend die in whatever peace is available to someone like him. When you discover who the poisoner is, then we can decide what to do.”

Holmes agreed reluctantly to Liszt’s wishes, for he wished to question Herr Wagner in a thorough manner. He then told him that he wished to examine as much of the household as he could and that he would need about three hours.

“And when would you like to perform your investigation?”

“There is no time like the present, as they say, Monsieur Liszt. If you will stand guard, I shall hurry through the public rooms, but I shall need time in Wagner’s study. Should he awaken, you must prevent him from entering.”

“That will be difficult but I shall try. Perhaps Hopkins can distract him should he awake. Perhaps he can offer an examination to Richard.”

Leaving Liszt and me on a bench in a dark corner of the hall, Holmes began his investigations. The least important would be the kitchen, for if he was sure of anything by now, it was that Wagner was not eating poisoned food. The murderer harbored no anger toward the rest of the family, since they appeared to be in very good health. No, the murderer appeared to be interested in Wagner alone. Poisoned food would have been a danger to all, and also would have raised immediate suspicions, particularly if one of the children had been taken ill. And we ourselves had partaken of the food and watched carefully to make sure that Wagner partook of nothing that the rest did not. After an initial hour of investigation, Holmes returned.

“If Wagner is not ingesting the poison,” said Holmes, “then he is either inhaling it or receiving it through his skin. After examining the kitchen I went directly to his study. It was not a large room, but it was filled with the many things of a long life. Books and musical scores lined the walls. There was an upright piano at which he composed, and a large desk.

“The desk immediately caught my eye, for there were the things with which Wagner worked on a daily basis: his pens, rulers, and paper. Of the latter, there were two piles, an enormous one of blank music paper except for the lines and staves which he had drawn in himself; the other, slightly smaller, on the top of which had been written in Wagner’s own hand:

Die Sieger, Ein Buddhistische Buhnenfestspiel in Drei Akten von Richard Wagner. Zu Meine Geliebte Savitri gewidmet
; that is,
The Victors. A Buddhist Music Drama in Four Acts by Richard Wagner. Dedicated to my beloved Savitri.

“The latter appeared to be a work that Wagner had just finished, of which the world knew nothing as yet. I could see that it was a voluminous score and appeared to be complete, including the full orchestral parts. The ‘Savitri’ of the dedication was not otherwise identified.”

The only other object of note on his desk, said Holmes, was a curious wooden box about ten inches square, with doors on one side. On opening them, a rather crude figure of the Buddha appeared. On each side of the figure was a small terra cotta cup, each filled with a grey-black powder. A third cup stored behind the figure contained an oily liquid. It was out of these powders, mixed together with the oil, that Holmes surmised that Wagner made his special inks. He took samples of each of the powders, leaving the oil till later.

Holmes had examined the study not a moment too soon, for just as he finished, we heard a shout from the Wagners’ bedroom. I disappeared into my room, watching from my door as Wagner appeared suddenly in the hall, staggering, shaking, sobbing with fear. Cosima was close by him. Liszt suddenly appeared from the shadows where he had been keeping watch.

“He has not slept well. He has been pursued all night by nightmares and hallucinations,” said she to her father.

Liszt helped to calm the shaking composer. They led him to a small sitting room off the hall. In a moment, Liszt appeared at our rooms.

“He needs your attention,” he said.

Holmes and I followed Liszt into the sitting room. Wagner had stopped shivering and appeared calmer. I felt his pulse, which was quite rapid and irregular, and listened to his heart and chest. I gave him a light bromide with water. In a few moments he seemed improved. He insisted that he be allowed to dress and meet everyone for a very early breakfast.

“My dreams have become fearful over the last year,” said Wagner, as Holmes and I sat with him. A few moments later, as the dawn came up, he had recovered sufficiently to discuss what had happened.

“And they maintain their reality into a wakeful state, so that I am unable to shake the mysterious phantoms that I see. Forgive me for sharing such intimate perceptions with you. In sleep, I was beckoned by Kundry, who told me to follow her into the forest. As I did so, she turned into a malevolent ogress, who began tearing at my flesh. It was at this point that I began to cry out, to push her away. I awoke, but she remained, now in the room beside the bed. Only the forest had disappeared. As Cosima responded to my terror, she left, and I staggered into the hall. What lies behind such nightmares I do not know. Dr. Watson, if you have any medical advice, I shall be grateful to receive it.”

“Herr Wagner, I should like to examine you briefly this morning. But, as to my immediate advice, I would counsel you to stop all work, particularly composing, and not to enter your study for one week. You will begin to see improvement immediately.”

“You ask what no one has asked before: the impossible. How can I sit with the music running through my head unrecorded?”

“Herr Wagner, if you do as I say, you will enjoy both physical and mental improvement immediately. Otherwise, there will be further deterioration in your condition, and your hallucinations will only grow worse.”

“Perhaps, Herr Doktor Watson, I can use my influence to prevail upon my husband to take your advice,” interjected Cosima.

“If you insist, my beloved, then I shall do it.”

Holmes and I followed Wagner to his chambers, where we made a thorough physical examination. Holmes took minute pieces, without Wagner’s being aware, of his hair and fingernails, both so brittle that samples were easily taken. The chief areas of concern were the irregular action of the heart, and his enlarged abdomen, which was due to swollen organs, in particular the liver and spleen. In addition, Wagner suffered from a meteorism that had forced the chest cavity to contract, a motion that had a further deleterious affect on his heart.

We left Herr Wagner, having administered another sedative, and brought the samples to my room, where Holmes, the better chemist by far, spent the day with some modest chemical equipment he had brought from London and a few necessary chemist’s tools from a shop near Piazza San Marco. The tests of Wagner’s hair and nails showed that heavy doses of arsenic had now passed throughout his body. We then tested the samples of ink powders that Holmes had taken from Wagner’s desk. The powders were each a different poison: arsenic, belladonna, curare, and, finally, meranic acid, a deadly poison that also creates severe hallucinations, extracted from a rare fungus and used, to the best of my knowledge, by veterinarians to kill mercifully sick and dying animals. It was used only in Switzerland, where the fungus was readily available. And so, we had ascertained, beyond a doubt, that Wagner was not naturally ill but made ill by a set of chemicals, each of which contributed to his strange and numerous symptoms.

Holmes communicated our findings to Liszt immediately. “We must find the source of the ink powders,” he said, “and we shall have our culprit.”

Following Holmes’s wishes, Liszt made quiet inquiries among the servants, and learned that the packages of ink arrived regularly from Germany, from a firm in Dresden. Wagner had given the servants instructions that the packages were to be sent wherever he was, and, as in all things, his instructions had been followed to the letter. The firm was known as E. Windisch and Company, and had been recommended by Wagner’s brother-in-law, Hermann Brockhaus, a professor of Oriental languages at Leipzig.

“Monsieur Liszt,” said Holmes, “I believe that our work here is now done. We must go to Dresden to find the poisoner. We cannot delay.”

“You are right, but you have been here for only a few days. I do not want to reveal anything to the Wagners unless we feel that his condition will improve. Do not forget the ostensible purpose of your visit. The poisoner will have no suspicions as yet. Delay your departure for a few days.”

It was by then the twelfth February, if memory serves, and we spent the afternoon with the children, who took us to Piazza San Marco to see the church and the Doge’s palace. Liszt and the Wagners remained at home. After the brief tour, the children were content playing with the great flocks of pigeons in the square. Holmes and I sat there, as so many have, contemplating the proportions of this most beautiful of piazzas.

It was about four o’clock when one of the servants appeared to tell us to remain there, for a special concert of Wagner’s music to be held in the piazza had been hastily arranged, and the Wagners were on their way. A military band began assembling in the square, and Holmes and I raced to the canal with the children. In a very short time a gondola appeared bearing Franz Liszt and the Wagners. Wagner looked resplendent in his black beret and velvet jacket.