Between the Thames and the Tiber (17 page)

“On several nights, just after I had prepared dinner, we talked about Minna. Both of us found her so difficult. He looked at me and said tearfully that their marriage was a mistake, that they were not meant to be together, and that his true love was for someone else.”

A look of the greatest pain consumed her face at this point. She stared directly at Holmes, as if answering his accusation.

“It was during this period,” she said, “when we were alone together that Richard Wagner seduced me. He told me first the story that he had heard of ancient India that concerned a young maiden by the name of Prakriti and a man of fame by the name of Ananda. Prakriti and Ananda loved one another, but their love was not meant to be consummated in their lifetime. They were prevented by the girl’s mother and by the Buddha himself, who compelled Ananda to keep his vow of celibacy. Richard told me that he had decided to write an opera based on the story, that it was to be the crowning achievement of his career. Then he introduced me to the doctrine of rebirth or karma, metempsychosis, as he called it, and explained how he felt that he was the reincarnation of Ananda and that I was Prakriti, the Chandala maiden. He told me too of the distinction between the pain of this world, Sansara, as the Indians call it, and Nirvana, the Annihilation of the individual soul into the Absolute.

“So overcome was I by his passionate eloquence that I succumbed rapidly to his advances, and for a few weeks we were happy together. Richard said now that I was his inspiration for this Buddhist opera, and that I was his everything. Indeed, he began quoting to me from one of his favorite Indian books, the Upanishads:
tat tvam asi
, he said over and over to me in Sanskrit, ‘That thou art,’ my All. He rapidly sketched out the opera and read it to me. He called it
The Victors
, and began calling me Savitri, another name of the Indian maid. I was overwhelmed.

“We decided, at Richard’s suggestion, to keep our relationship a secret. This would protect our love until he could divorce Minna and we could live the rest of our lives together. I agreed, and could think only of following him and being with him forever.

“In a short time, however, everything came to an end. Minna, realising that I would not go to her, came to fetch me. Upon her arrival, Richard, rather than being at all harsh with her, welcomed her warmly. I suddenly found myself pushed aside. I became hurt and angry. Richard insisted that I was being foolish and misinterpreting his actions, that we would gain nothing in the long run by alienating Minna. Reassured, I kept my own counsel.

“Two weeks after Minna’s return, Richard announced that he had been invited to London to conduct a performance of
Rienzi
at Covent Garden and then of
Lohengrin
in Paris. He did not know exactly how long he would be gone, but that I should not worry. He said that I would join him at the first moment after he had settled in England, and that he would send for me, that he would ask a friend to take me to him. He would then write to Minna and explain the situation, and that she should grant him a divorce.

“The day he left, my heart sank. Already fearful, I could only wait. I never saw him again. A month went by. I received two notes, saying that all was well, that he loved me, but that the rehearsals had taken all his time, and that it would perhaps be better if I met him after he arrived in Paris.

“Another month passed. To my consternation, I learned that I was now carrying his child. I despaired, for I had heard nothing for weeks from Richard. I wrote him a passionate letter in secret to his Paris address. I explained my condition to him. I received no reply. Two weeks later, my letter was returned to me from France, unopened and unread.

“One night, missing him so much, I decided to enter his room. There, surrounded by his books, his clothes, and his other possessions, I sat at his desk, looking out the window at the stars. The full moon lit the room. I began to weep. I cried as a child who had grown too quickly into adulthood. In retrospect, I realise how heinous his crimes were, for I was indeed a mere child.

“I reached instinctively into the top drawer of his desk for something with which to dry my eyes, when I saw a letter in Richard’s handwriting. It was addressed to a Frau Wesendonck, the wife of a family friend. I shall never forget the words that he addressed to her: ‘You are my Savitri, and I your Ananda! Forever, we shall be together. Happy Savitri! You may now follow your lover everywhere, be around him and with him constantly ! Happy Ananda! She is now close to you, you have won her, never to lose her. You are my All, and I yours.’

“Stunned by this evidence of his betrayal, my heart suddenly became as cold as ice. I vowed revenge. I returned to my room to spend the rest of a sleepless night plotting the slow cruel death of Richard Wagner.

“In the morning, I decided that I would tell all that had happened to Minna, for I believed that, whatever her faults, she truly loved me. My trust was not misplaced. Minna at first was dismayed by my revelations, but in the end she was relieved. She now realized that she could no longer remain the wife of Richard Wagner. It was then, in the kitchen of that small house, that she told me the truth, that I was not her younger sister, but her own daughter. It was then that I learned her terrible secret. Relieved by the truth, we embraced for the first time as mother and daughter. That morning, we packed our things, notified the landlord that what remained belonged to Herr Wagner, and left. Minna was careful to take all of Richard Wagner’s letters and documents with her, including the letter that I had found to Frau Wesendonck. We went to her father’s house, where we remained until the child was born. During this time, Minna divulged nothing of my secret to anyone. Indeed, you and your companion are the first, Mr. Holmes, to know. She used the letter to Frau Wesendonck to mark publicly her break with Wagner. Of my condition, Wagner never knew anything. Only my grandmother and Minna were aware that I was to give birth.

“The child was a girl, and Minna convinced me to give her up for adoption. She had known for many years an American doctor by the name of Jenkins, who had been many years resident in Dresden. He had originally served in the American consulate, and then, because he loved Germany so much, decided to remain in a private capacity for several years after he left government service. He and his wife were childless. Minna, without naming the father, explained the situation that, since her own health was not that good and her parents were now old and indigent, it would be best if he could help find a home. He decided on the spot to take the child in adoption himself, and to return with her to America where he and his wife would raise her as his own. He insisted that I remain under his care during and after the pregnancy, and he assisted at the birth. Except for the kindness shown by this American gentleman and his wife, I do not think that I could have lived through those few months. He also gave us a sizable sum of money, which Minna invested. Though the income was not great, it was enough for us to live frugally.

“Minna’s parents died within a few months of each other, and Minna herself was in poor health. It was shortly after their death that Minna learned from friends that Wagner had secretly taken up with Cosima, the wife of his friend Hans von Bülow. She must still have harbored some love towards Wagner, for she took this news very badly; for her it appeared to be a particularly heavy blow. I have no doubt that Wagner’s latest treachery hastened her death. I watched her through her last illness and was with her when she died. As soon as he learned of Minna’s death, Wagner announced his intention to marry Cosima, by whom he had already fathered one child and with whom he was expecting a second. Cosima asked her husband for a divorce, and the disconsolate Hans von Bülow could only acquiesce bitterly in a situation that was already a fait accompli. The only dissenting voice came from her father, Franz Liszt, who made his feelings known quite clearly to Cosima that he regarded their liaison and approaching marriage with the greatest apprehension.

“As her heir, I inherited all of Minna’s property, including all the letters and documents that she had accumulated through the years with Richard Wagner. It is a substantial collection, one that I have read through carefully. It is a catalogue of treachery, of vicious dishonesty to his friends and acquaintances, but mostly to the women who crossed his path. In going through these things, I found a box marked with the word “Poisons. From the apothecary Obrist.” I learned from Minna’s notes that several years before, when their dog Peps lay in his death agony, Wagner had been given some strong poisons by Obrist, an apothecary who had inherited a large number of poisons from a retiring apothecary in Zurich. They were to be used to put a merciful end to the dog’s agony. The dog died before Wagner returned, and the poisons were never used.

“Here, then, I had my tools. There were over a dozen vials, each marked with a different poison. There was also a small pamphlet inside which explained their effects, both long and short term, and how they could be administered medically. I knew nothing of such things, and since I wished to proceed slowly and deliberately, I took a position in the shop of an apothecary in Dresden, where I apprenticed, learning all there was to learn of medicines as well as poisons and how to measure them out. I became quite expert within a few months. I now knew which ones could be absorbed through the skin, which ones could be inhaled, and which ones could be most effective through ingestion.

“The only question that remained was how they could be delivered to him effectively and without harm to anyone else. I wished to have him suffer, to make him sick with a variety of ailments before he died, but I harbored no hatred for anyone else. For Cosima, his latest Savitri, his most beloved Isolde, I had nothing but pity, for she was given the worst in this vale of Sansara.

“It was only fitting that, in my quest for the means by which to poison him, Wagner himself should come to my aid. Having heard nothing from him since the notes he sent from London, not even a word acknowledging the death of Minna, I received one morning a letter from him, written in Lucerne and dated 27 November 1868. It was characteristic of him that it mentioned nothing of our relationship, nor his long marriage to Minna. He wanted something, and went directly to the point:

I have a favour to ask you today which I have kept on forgetting until now. Among the objects which remained in Minna’s household in Dresden, and which were all transferred to her at her request, is a present which Countess d’Agoult gave me and which only negligence could have persuaded Minna to regard as one of her possessions. It is a small Chinese Buddha, a kind of gilt idol, enclosed in a small casket of black wood, the doors of which used to open to reveal the small statue inside. God knows what Minna did with this piece: at all events, it was not right of her if she gave it away. May I ask you to endeavor to obtain the return of this piece for me: if the present owner is indelicate enough not to return this keepsake at once, in return for the above declaration, I am ultimately willing to pay whatever compensation may be necessary to ensure its return.

“I found the piece in one of Minna’s trunks marked RW. It had not been given away, for Minna had been scrupulous about Wagner’s things. How fitting! In triumph, like some divine object, I held up this piece of cheap Oriental junk to the sky, contemplating its sacred nature, knowing that this idol would be the first vehicle of my revenge. That night, using the poisons that my mother had preserved, and protecting myself with the face masks and garments of the apothecary, I carefully covered the idol with a dust that was easily absorbed through the skin and could easily be inhaled. It was my own formula made from the poisons for his dog Peps. I wrapped it carefully and sent it to Wagner marked: “Richard Wagner. Personal. To be opened only by him.” Inside I put a note: ‘
tat tvam asi
.’ I left it unsigned. The piece arrived at Tribschen, the Wagners’ home, on 16 January 1869. A week later, a notice appeared in the Dresden newspapers that Herr Wagner had been taken ill with what appeared to be erysipelas and mysterious spasms of the legs that had forced him to cancel his conducting engagements indefinitely. My plan was working. The first dose was a success. But how to continue on a regular basis, until the end?

“I finally found the way. This time, however, it was Minna who led me to the solution. In her diaries, she mentioned that Wagner spent hours preparing his music paper for his notations, that he refused to have anyone draw even the lines of the staff for him. When he could not compose, when he felt the music blocked, he would spend long hours ruling large sheets of paper in preparation for when the music rushed into his head. He had to have complete control over this aspect of his artistic life and he insisted that no one else do it for him. He experimented with a variety of pens and pencils, even finding a new kind of pencil whose lead, when mixed with water, became indelible. Finally, he had chosen a special ink made only in Dresden by a small firm called Windisch and Company, suggested to him by his brother-in-law Hermann Brockhaus. The Brockhaus Publishing Firm used the inks of this firm in their best publications. The recommendation was enough for Wagner, and he had used only these inks in the score of the Ring,
Tristan
, and now
Parsifal
. He spent hours mixing the inks carefully. What better vehicle could there be than these dusts and chemicals, ones that he insisted no one else touch? Again, how fitting, for I would be poisoning not only him, but the physical expression of the music itself. The more he wrote, the sicker he would become, for I was not anxious that he should die quickly.

“By recommendation of the apothecary for whom I worked, I was apprenticed at Windisch and Company as one who mixed the inks and had them dispatched to select customers. Because I was known to have a family relation with him—I was still known as his wife’s sister—Wagner’s orders to the firm were quickly put in my personal charge. His instructions to Herr Windisch were characteristically precise and firm: two packages per month to arrive on the tenth and twentieth, no matter where he was. It became part of my task to know his travels and whereabouts. This was done through one of the domestic servants whom Wagner instructed to notify Windisch of his plans. I myself was never in direct communication with Wagner, nor did he nor anyone in his household know that I was employed at Windisch and Company. And so, my task began. I experimented at first—”