Windisch gave us her last known address, which he said lay at the other end of town. We took our leave and went directly in search of her. There, in a dilapidated rooming house, we asked the owner to direct us to her. We were led to the third floor. The proprietress knocked on a door at the end of the hall.
The door opened and an old woman appeared.
“What do you want?” she asked curtly.
“I come from the house of Richard Wagner,” said Holmes moving forward to the door. “He is dead.”
The name made her start, and she immediately let us in. As soon as we entered we realized that we had walked into a small shrine to the dead composer. His portraits and photographs were everywhere, and his scores and libretti were among the few books that lined the walls.
The old woman was dressed in rags. Her room was cold, and her wrists were wrapped tightly in an effort to keep warm. Her feet were bare and swollen. She moved slowly, and I saw immediately that she was very ill. Her hand shook as she motioned him to a chair. Holmes spoke to her bluntly.
“Fraulein Planer, I shall not hide my purpose in seeking you out. My name is Sherlock Holmes. That surely means nothing to you. I am, however, a consulting detective. My colleague, Dr. Watson, and I have been engaged by a client to investigate the decline in health and now death of the composer Herr Richard Wagner. I have reason to believe that you are responsible for his death by poison gradually administered to him.”
Holmes uttered the accusation with the utmost conviction.
There was but a momentary surprise on her face. She sighed and looked down at the floor and remained silent for a time. When she began speaking, she made no attempt to deny Holmes’s accusation.
“You are correct,” she said proudly. “I am, but only in an earthly sense, responsible for the death of that monster, for it is the work of God whose agent I am. You cannot know the happiness I felt when I learned of his death. He is now mine.”
Her eyes narrowed at first as she spoke, then a smile formed on her lips.
“Fraulein Planer,” said Holmes, “I cannot condone your actions, but at the same I am neither a representative of the police nor am I a German citizen. I am the only one who suspects that Herr Wagner did not die of a heart attack brought on by natural causes. I would encourage you, therefore, to tell me what reason you had to kill him. As to your punishment, that will come from another than I.”
“You will hear my story and understand. I do not fear punishment, and I stand ready to receive it. It is perhaps an evil act that I have performed, but one out of which only good can come. Let me start at the very beginning, for the circumstances of my birth are directly related. I believe, with the Buddhists, that birth is the result of circumstances of which we can know nothing when we come into this world and that our life is a journey in profound ignorance. You may not know that my mother was Christine Wilhelmine Planer, called Minna, a woman who had the misfortune to become Richard Wagner’s first wife. Wagner, however, was not my father. Long before she met Wagner, Minna, at the age of fifteen, worked in a common working-class liquor shop. Extremely beautiful and in the first bloom of youth, she was seduced one night by a drunken soldier. I was the result of that liaison. To this day, I do not know who my father was. Because of her deep shame, Minna raised me as her younger sister, and her parents also maintained this version of who I was. Most people still believe I am her sister.
“Minna met Wagner several years later, and before they were married she told him her story and the truth about me. He was the only one who knew. He was so infatuated with Minna’s beauty that he did not care what her past was, for he said that he loved only her, and insisted that they marry, which they did. I lived most of my early years with them.
“As I grew up, Wagner was kind and gentle at times, but more often distant and aloof, and he often treated me indifferently, never harshly, despite the stormy relationship with Minna. I, myself, of course, had a very difficult time with her, who, while calling me her sister, treated me naturally as her daughter. I could do nothing without her permission, and she never let me out of her sight. I felt stifled by her. Several times she left, taking me with her. When we returned, there would be peace for a few days, then the bickering would break out again. Wagner himself often left on tour for his music, and I was left with my sister alone, who browbeat me constantly. She loved me deeply, I knew, but so stifled did I feel that I ran away twice, only to be found at the home of friends and returned to her. Though I loved her, I wanted to hurt her.
“The stormy relationship between Wagner and Minna gradually grew worse, and on several occasions became almost violent. At these times, I would retire to my room in fright. One morning, when I was fifteen, an argument broke out before lunch, and Minna, without even packing a bag, ran out of the house. She did not return for two weeks. Wagner went after her. He searched everywhere and was gone for two days. I was alone for the first time in my life. When he returned he was in despair. Minna had disappeared without a trace. He did not know whether she was alive or dead. Two days after his return, word arrived through a friend that Minna was alive but despondent and that she had no intention of returning soon. She wanted me to join her immediately at her secret location. Having tasted freedom for the first time in my life, I adamantly refused. Wagner argued heatedly with me that I should go to stay with Minna, that he had his work and had to travel, that he could not be responsible for me, and that I belonged with Minna. I quietly refused.
“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:
“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
“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.
