Ted Riccardi - Between the Thames and the Tiber

“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.

“Come, join us, my dear friends. The concert was announced only a few hours ago without my knowledge. I hope it is better than the one last March in Sicily,” said the composer as he alighted onto the pier, his breath coming in short gasps.

We sat with the Wagners in front of the Doge’s palace. The band was hardly an orchestra, but a Venetian brass ensemble. They had chosen selections from Rienzi , Tannhäuser , and the prelude to the third act of Lohengrin, all of which they played rather well.

Wagner was deeply moved. The last pieces were Wotan’s Farewell from GÖtterdämmerung , and the overture to Parsifal , which, despite the absence of strings, was orchestrated in such a way that the Master was pleased. At the end of the performance, following his lead, all applauded the band warmly. After greeting the conductor, a Signor Torelli, and the members of the band, they returned home.

At supper, Wagner discoursed about many things, including some statements of Bismarck, which he considered wise, and about Undine , the famous novel by La Motte Fouqué, as a suitable subject for a music drama. He had read it as a child and had so covered his copy with blotches of ink in reading it that, when confronted by his angry father, he quickly invented a clever excuse. He blamed the blotting on the dark child of a Moorish merchant, who lived nearby. He said that the black boy had cut himself and drops of his dark blood had stained the book. In a final discourse, he compared Undine to Kundry and to other heroines, then rose and announced that he would retire early since he had slept little the night before.

In the morning, Wagner let it be known that he would not breakfast with the family, but that he would meet everyone at lunch. In a brief meeting in which I administered another sedative to him, he told us that he would enter his study only briefly but would not stay. Holmes admonished him, saying that above all he must write nothing. It was a sunny morning, and we went for a long stroll in the city.

It was probably just after the hour of noon that Wagner must have rung the warning bell that was near his desk. Frau Wagner rushed to him, only to find that he was barely conscious. Because we were absent, a local doctor was summoned. When we returned, Joukovsky informed me that Wagner’s condition had taken a grave turn. We sat with the chilren for a moment, but before I could see him, the doctor appeared and informed us that Herr Wagner had expired a few minutes before. He had suffered a massive hear attack, but had not suffered greatly. At the end, his face, we were told, was filled with peace and nobility. Frau Wagner had held him in her arms in his last minutes. She announced through the doctor that she would remain with her husband and would not appear until his body was to be moved for burial at Wahnfried, their home in Germany.

On the following morning, the remains of Herr Wagner were brought by gondola to the railroad station. The bearers of his coffin were Joukovsky, Holmes and I, and several Venetian young men, who claimed to be disciples of the great musician. Frau Wagner, attired and veiled in black, rode with her husband and the children. Joukovsky, Liszt, and Holmes and I followed in a separate boat.

The news of Wagner’s death spread rapidly and the Venetians had come out in great numbers. At the station, Holmes and I bade farewell to the family. We watched as the mournful group boarded the early-morning train for Germany. Our own left several hours later, and we had time to visit the attending physician, Dr. Vattimo, and read the report that he had prepared: all of it was consistent with our diagnosis. Wagner’s diseases—Bright’s disease, erysipelas, swollen liver, and a gradually failing heart were all consistent with the slow, methodical poisoning that eventually overpowered him. Clever, and most vengeful, for he suffered constant pain and discomfort while alive.