Unsterbliche Geliebte

I know little to nothing about the subject, I need an introduction

Azzurro wrote:

I know little to nothing about the subject, I need an introduction

http://books.google.it/books?id=zHOHfPGjkS0C&pg=PA158&lpg=PA158&dq=unsterbliche+geliebte+beethoven+tesi+di+Maynard+Solomon&source=bl&ots=4rnaHubOoX&sig=JMbwBHg9xr82ZIMWRwi5OVk7ZYY&hl=it&sa=X&ei=TFejUeGKPJOO7QaDyYCQDg&ved=0CDAQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=unsterbliche%20geliebte%20beethoven%20tesi%20di%20Maynard%20Solomon&f=false

Beethoven, portraits and images: a study on iconography by Benedetta Saglietti... It doesn't hurt

A bit poetic... but what if the beloved were music?

kaliel21 wrote:

The topic is proposed continuously, but which historians propose as the ideal candidate for immortality for Beethoven? Is Maynard Solomon's thesis the most reliable?

I don't remember Solomon's thesis, but it seems to me that the ideal "candidate" was Therese Malfatti (the one from the Sonata op. 78 "A Therese", for clarity).

I am merging two replies to a post that belong more to this one than the other.

I say, "I will not enter the other post 'Unsterbliche Geliebte'" (and I will keep far away from it), but I would like to thank Oracolo for the citation of Benedetta's book. Being included in the acknowledgments of a researcher so attentive, wise, and modest is one of those small-great satisfactions of this wretched musical life!)"

so Oracolo legitimately asks me: Why? Because I am curious

and this is my reply: Dear Oracolo, believe me, it is not conceit to avoid addressing a subject that has been analyzed in minute detail.... on the other post my friend Daniele will be able to worthily illustrate to you the numerous veils that passed through the bed of the great composer, for love or for womb. (I have great esteem for Daniele and, no matter what happens, he certainly won't do any worse than Buscaroli, who in his book-RiodelleAmazzoni pumps with a compressor for 60 pages and more only to conclude that... bah.... indeed....) The subject itself is not interesting for those who deal with sketches and rare music.... and to think that a few years ago, prompted by the old co-owner of the French site, Dominique Prévot, I did a good (!) research on Minona von Stackelberg (1813-1897), probable illegitimate daughter of Beethoven; the research was interesting in itself, especially because Minona was a decent musician, and even managed to publish some "little tunes," which I put on the old site... (who knows if I won't find a hole in the new one too).... I would say that I can move this answer to the other post, so that if someone is so reckless as to ask me for the article on Minona (Minona=Anonim, cute....) I would make it public domain.

After the Master's death, all his remaining belongings were sifted through and it was on that occasion that three letters written in his own hand surfaced, which however the composer did not send. It is not known to which woman they were intended, as Beethoven never mentioned her name in his writings and never confided anything about this story to his friends. He addressed her with endearments such as “My angel” or “Immortal beloved”. On them, only part of the date appears, without specification of the year or place of writing: Monday, July 6th. This has been, and to some extent still is today, the greatest mystery regarding the life of Ludwig van Beethoven. So many hypotheses have been made concerning the true identity of the Immortal Beloved, involving the main women Beethoven loved; from Guicciardi, to Deym, to Erdody, to Sebald, but each of these hypotheses has collapsed like a house of cards. However, there is one hypothesis that, with many reservations, can provide fairly credible answers, even if, in the absence of truly irrefutable proof establishing the truth, one can never speak of absolute certainty. I now present the full text of the three letters to the Immortal Beloved because it is from what is written in these texts that a “Plausible” truth could be reconstructed:

July 6th morning.

My angel, my everything, my very self. - today only a few words in pencil (with your pencil) - they can only fix my room tomorrow, what time wasted on such trifles - why this profound pain, since it is necessary - Can our love exist otherwise, if not bound to sacrifices and the renunciation of demanding everything, what can be done, if you are not entirely mine; if I am not entirely yours - O God look how beautiful nature is and do not be troubled by what must be - love demands everything and with full reason, so it is with me with you and with you with me - do you forget so easily that I must live for myself and for you, even if we were entirely reunited neither you nor I would feel this pain - my journey was tremendous, I arrived here yesterday at four in the morning, horses were missing so the post had to change its itinerary, but what a horrible road, at the last station they had advised me against traveling at night, against crossing a certain wood, but that instead piqued my interest - and I was wrong, with all those jolts on an almost unpaved surface, the carriage might not have made it and with two postilions less skilled than mine, I would have been stuck halfway - it did not go any better for Esterhazi on the normal road, with her eight horses against my four. -In fact, I even enjoyed myself as always happens to me in case of escaped danger - but let us return quickly from external things to internal ones, we will see each other again soon, even today I cannot communicate to you the observations I have made in these last few days regarding my life - if our hearts were always close to one another, they certainly would not have come to mind, my heart is bursting with things to tell you - Ah - sometimes I think that words are unable to express anything - be serene, continue to be my faithful, unique treasure, my everything, as I am for you; the rest, what may and must happen to us, will be decided by the gods. -

Your faithful Ludwig

Monday evening, July 6th

You suffered, you, the being dearest to me - at this moment I am informed that the letters must be delivered very early in the morning. Monday - Thursday are the only two days when the post leaves here for K. - you suffer - Ah, where I am, you are also with me, I speak with myself and with you, I act as if I could live with you, what a life! !!! so!!!! without you - Persecuted here and there by the goodness of men who I believe - so little want to deserve and that I deserve so little - The humility of man towards man - it hurts me - and if I consider myself in the framework of the universe, what am I and what is he - whom they call the greatest - and yet - even here there is the divinity of man - it makes me want to cry at the thought that you will probably receive my news no earlier than Saturday - as much as you may love me - my love for you is even stronger. - and it shall never be hidden from you - good night - as a frequent visitor of the baths I must now go to sleep - <Go you too, go you too> O God - so close! so far! is our love not a true heavenly edifice - but also solid as the vault of heaven.

Good morning July 7th

in bed my thoughts are already turned toward you, my beloved immortal, now happy, now sad again, in the wait that fate fulfills our desires - I can live only closely united to you, not otherwise, yes, I have decided to wander far until I can fly into your arms and feel perfectly at home beside you and letting my soul, surrounded by your being, enter into

kingdom of spirits - unfortunately it must be so - you will resign yourself, especially knowing my faithfulness toward you, no other woman can ever possess my heart, never - never - O God why must one move away from the object of so much love, my life in W. is now miserable - your love has made me the happiest and at the same time the most unhappy of men - at my age I would need to live in a uniform way without shocks - but is that possible in our situation? - My Angel, they tell me now that the mail works every day - so I am closing so that you can receive the letter as soon as possible - be calm, only by contemplating our existence with serenity can we reach our goal of living together - be calm - love me - today - yesterday - How much nostalgia, how much regret for you - for you – for you - my life - my everything - farewell - I beg you continue to love me - never deny the most faithful heart of your beloved

L.

Eternally yours

Eternally mine

Eternally ours

I will now try to explain how it was possible to establish what could be a probable true identity of the Immortal Beloved.

The first thing to establish was the exact year in which the letters were written; from this, one could then trace back to the location. These details would finally circumscribe the range of possibilities for any potential candidates to be the Immortal Beloved.

The date, Monday, July 6th, reduces the possibilities to 1795, 1801, 1807, 1812 and 1818. From the letter, it is also inferred that Beethoven was a guest in a spa town surely to undergo treatments. This, in itself, reduced the matter only to 1812, the year in which the composer was in Teplitz from July 5th. This hypothesis was then definitively proven by the analysis of the type of watermark on the paper used by Beethoven, which corresponds exactly to that he used in other letters of certain dates from the same period.

Having established the place and date of the letter, it was now necessary to try to trace the identity of the woman. All women from the past were excluded: Guicciardi, Deim… also because Beethoven, notoriously for his particularly proud character, was not accustomed to returning to frequent women from his past.

In the period around 1812, only one probable candidate remained: Amalie Sebald, whom Beethoven had already met in 1811 in Teplitz and again in 1812. But if one reads the content of the letters and compares them to others truly addressed to her, it is immediately deduced that it absolutely cannot be her, as the tone used by the composer toward her was too different. And then? There remained only the hypothesis that the woman called the Immortal Beloved was none of those who officially had more or less romantic relationships with the composer.

One therefore began to analyze any document written by the composer to see if one could untangle the web, and Maynard Solomon, in his Beethoven biography, reaches a conclusion that could make Agatha Christie envious. Solomon, while editing

a moment of regret that the composer has towards someone, and this someone can only, once again, be her: the Immortal Beloved. This is then supported by the fact that, in that very year, Beethoven wrote a sentence in his diary that seems to connect directly to this state of mind: «Regarding T., there is nothing left to do but entrust everything to God, never go where one might commit something wrong through weakness; entrust everything to Him, to Him alone, the God who knows all!»

That same uncertainty, that same ambiguity, but this time the initial is T and this time Beethoven spoke of something in the past, something about which there is nothing more to be done.

Solomon concludes that there is only one woman who can correspond to both initials and that is Antonie (or Tonie) Brentano, wife of Franz Brentano, who was himself the brother of Bettina Brentano, poetess and pupil of Goethe.

Antonie was practically forced to marry Franz. He was, however, a very good and generous man, but in reality, she never loved him.

In 1810 they arrived in Vienna and there they reached his sister Bettina, who at that time was an intimate friend of Beethoven, and in that way she met the composer. It is difficult to establish the exact date of this possible – if it even existed - beginning of love between the two, but in a letter dated January 26, 1811, to Clemens Brentano, her husband's half-brother who had sent him the text of a cantata, Antonie expressed herself thus: «...I will put the original into the holy hands of Beethoven, whom I deeply venerate. He moves among mortals like a god; his haughty attitude toward the lower parts of the world and his bad digestion only oppress him momentarily because the Muse embraces him and holds him to her warm breast(...)»

It is therefore probable that their possible relationship began in the autumn of that year. The most significant combination suggesting that the Immortal Beloved could be her was given by the fact that, while Beethoven wrote those letters, she was in Karlsbad along with her entire family, which is certainly the city the composer alludes to with the phrase in the letters: «...Monday - Thursday are the only two days when the mail leaves here for K.(...)» which can indeed stand for Karlsbad, a city about 150 kilometers – more or less – from Teplitz.

Antonie tried to prolong her stay in Vienna as long as possible – she left in November 1812 – however, when there was nothing more to be done, both probably agreed to let the story go, because Beethoven, in reality, loved the entire Brentano family with whom he shared a great friendship – a friendship that lasted until his death – so both agreed to let it go and, from this, one can also understand that ambiguous tone I mentioned before: they were always torn between the mutual desire that attracted them and their loyalty to their friend – for Beethoven – and to their husband – for Antonie. For Beethoven, however, this was the end of any illusion of being able to lead a normal romantic and family life.

At the end of her long life – she died in 1869 at age 89 - Antonie confided to Otto Jahn that in Vienna only one person was able to console her in moments of greatest desolation: Beethoven, with whom a tender friendship was born: «...he would come regularly, sit at the piano in her anteroom, without a word, and improvise; when he had finished telling her everything and giving her comfort, he would leave just as he had come, without paying attention to anyone.(...)» In 1818, another of her phrases referring to Beethoven resurfaced: "He is natural, simple, wise, and his intentions are pure.""

«To neglect what could be a great event and remain thus—what difference does that make from a shiftless life, as I have often imagined for myself. Or tremendous circumstances that do not stifle my sense of domesticity, but prevent it from being realized. O God, God, turn your gaze upon the unhappy Beethoven, do not allow it to continue like this any longer. To scrutinize everything in the evening. Learn to remain silent, my friend. A word is like silver, but to be silent at the opportune moment is pure gold. Even if the clouds were to rain streams of life, the willow will never grant dates. Do not waste time with wicked people; the common reed will never yield sugar. Can you perhaps forge a good sword from spring clay? Does the nature of a wolf raised by men ever vary? It is not always the same rain that makes brambles and thistles grow. Here, in the salty fields and flowers in the gardens? Do not then scatter the seed and the precious care. To do wrong to the good and good to the wicked is one and the same.

The best way not to think of your misfortune is to be industrious.

Observe him well, such is man! Therefore, if someone has fallen, someone else may weep; but do not dare to judge. Life resembles the trembling of a sound and man that of a stringed instrument: when it falls violently to the ground, the right tone disappears and can no longer be recovered. It can only cause annoyance. It can no longer tune itself with others; it must not disturb the harmony of the ear or bring discord to the well-tuned choir. Do you ask the reason why the stars rise and set? Only that which appears is clear. The 'why' will become so when the dead rise again. Like when the last breath produced by a light hand on the harp strings is extinguished. Like drops falling into a clear crystal pond, the circles become increasingly faint until they quietly disappear; far away on the flowery shores, so too would I like to vanish one day and lose myself in the best life! Far from the land of the fathers, in the rude cradle of storms, where I lie bound by the strong ties of love. Might the hand of fate one day lead me gently up there, to my home?...»

On May 13, 1813, seven months after the three letters never posted to the Immortal Beloved, Beethoven thus writes in his Diary and, it appears very likely that these extremely melancholy words refer to the tragic and painful choice to conclude this mysterious story.

The end of the story with the Immortal Beloved was followed by other very dark moments: the death of his brother Kaspar Karl in 1813 and, above all, the beginning of the issue regarding the adoption of his nephew Carl. In the same year, Napoleon was then definitively defeated at Waterloo and, although Beethoven greeted the event with satisfaction, in reality, all this probably created very conflicting feelings within him, as often happened. Certainly, also out of a strong need for money, he composed some music that greeted the completed restoration by the Congress of Vienna, but soon the new political climate contributed to isolating and saddening him. As in previous cases of discouragement and depression, a almost total silence followed in the musical field. From this silence, Beethoven began to emerge from 1816 with what are his greatest masterpieces, those commonly called his “third style.”

As early as 1814, the first sketches of what would become in 1816 the “6 lieder 'An die ferne Geliebte' (To the Distant Beloved) Opus 98” appeared in his notebooks, his greatest song masterpiece, with texts that can only call to mind the Immortal Beloved. These texts, written by one Aloys Jeitteles, a medical student and amateur poet, according to some fairly certain sources, seem to have been conceived at the direct invitation of the composer... A famous musicologist and scholar of lieder, such as Liuzzi, wrote: «For the first time, a cycle of melodies on words arises in him from a secret and vivid emotion, (....) Beethoven once again flings open a wonderful window onto the future horizons of chamber music with the songs “An die ferne Geliebte”. Here, no longer is any detachment felt between music and poetry, no rigidity in their mutual behavior (…) Finally the arbiter of his own vocal expression, since all its spirit and sound is his, Beethoven then knows how to infuse it into a new form. He has in his heart a vision of distant times: to that, he speaks the language of his youth which he will not repeat. But to art, he delivers a crown unbraided by anyone before him: the lyrical poem unfolded in successive episodes, welded to one another by instrumental interludes; distributed in every expressive inflection with perfect balance between voice and instrument; concluded in harmonious and intense synthesis by unforgettable resonances of the initial theme. The songs 'An die ferne Geliebte' are the first large wreath of Lieder in cyclic form in musical literature.»

German: the seed from which the best lyricism of the nineteenth century will bloom."

Upon the hill I sit spying

in the blue misty country,

yearning for the distant meadows

where I found you, my beloved.

From you I am very far away,

mountains and valleys stand in between

between us and our peace,

between our joy and our sorrow.

Aha, you cannot see the gaze,

which burns as it turns toward you, and sighs disperse

in the space that divides us.

Nothing then wishes to reach you,

nothing wishes to be a message of love?

I want to sing, to sing songs

that tell you of my pain!

Where the blue mountains

peek

from amidst the misty gray,

where the sun fades,

where the cloud spreads itself

there I would wish to be!

There in the quiet valley

pains and torment are silent.

where among the pebbles

the primrose meditates quietly,

and the wind blows lightly

there I would wish to be!

Light clouds sailing upon the heights

and you, small and narrow stream,

you can catch sight of my beloved,

and greet her for me a thousand times.

You clouds, you see her then walking,

meditating in the quiet valley;

make my image rise before her

in the airy hall of the sky.

If she is then among the bushes,

fulvous and bare now, in autumn,

lament, oh little birds,

lament my troubles, my torment!

These clouds upon the heights,

this joyful flock of birds,

they will see you, oh my grace.

Take me with you in your light flight!

These winds will play,

jesting around the cheek and the breast,

fumbling through the silken curls.

Share this pleasure with me!

May returns, the plain blooms,

such warm and sweet winds blow,

streams flow chattering away.

Busy here and there,

she carries some softer piece for the nuptial bed.

The faithful spouses now live together,

May joins what winter divided,

it knows how to reunite lovers.

Accept then these songs,

which I sang to you, beloved;

then return to sing them in the evening

to the sweet sound of the lute!

When twilight descends

upon the quiet blue lake,

and its last ray fades

behind that height,

and you sing what I have sung,

what came out of me

senza art from my chest,

conscious only of her nostalgia,

then the distance that divides us

vanishes before the songs

and to a loving heart reaches

that which a loving heart consecrates.

Open content (youtube)

here....................... thanks Dan.

let's replace "third" with "late" and we are all set.......(you slipped up, admit it) well yes, Daniele, I read everything...... what a tedious topic.....indigestible.....idle......I'm getting up and going for some lemoncello cream (plenty of it) and I leave you all alone to develop this post, as I had Oraculously promised myself.

Friendship,

OrlandiArmando wrote:

here....................... thanks Dan.

let's replace "third" with "late" and we are all set.......(you slipped up, admit it) well yes, Daniele, I have read everything...... what a tedious topic.....indigestible.....idle......I am getting up to go get some limoncello cream (plenty of it) and I leave you all alone to develop this post, as I had Oraculously promised myself.

Friendship,

Yes, Armando! I substantially agree with you that it is a tedious topic. However, it is right to give an answer to the friends who asked the question and, anyway, one cannot ignore that, whether one likes it or not, the Beethovenian myth also draws much strength from all of this. As proof of this, I think of the many films - very bad ones, for that matter - made about our composer that draw their strength from this.

And anyway, in all of this there is a positive side: the discussion then allows us to talk about “An die ferne Geliebte” which is a truly extraordinary work.

Ciao Armando and hi everyone!

Thanks also from my side, Daniele!

I admit that I had never paid attention to such a "rosy" topic. For two reasons: a certain distance from passionate romantic subjects, and a lack of interest in delving into the biography of the man who created the musical masterpieces I love most. It's not that his biography doesn't interest me, but I lack the ability and expertise for deep study. I admire Solomon's findings, and... your work, with which you present the whole matter on a silver platter. I know well that you are aware of other conjectures besides Solomon's; if you do not cite them, you will have your good reasons (not least being the desire to be brief).

Now, however, I think I was wrong to neglect the subject entirely: films and romantic embellishments are certainly cloying; but history itself, in and of itself, I don't find so cloying: it isn't just "rosy." The circumstances of life—unfortunately for Ludwig—have layered a thick patina of gray over it.

Three observations

He never sent them. He never destroyed them. He never writes the name of his beloved.

Two considerations

The fact that he kept them can be indicative of the great importance Ludwig attributed to the trace of life remaining in his heart regarding what he lived with this woman: an importance that even in subsequent years remained "celebrated" for him by the presence of those very letters he preserved.

[Of course: it could also be indicative that he never tidied up his things. But not for me]

The fact of not sending them and using only initials can be indicative of how much Beethoven wanted everything to remain buried forever in his memory without ever falling into other hands. And I think this need for secrecy must have been—unfortunately—very strong (how beautiful it is, in fact, when one is in love, even just to write out the name of the beloved in full!... perhaps even with handwriting better than the other words...)

A feeling

Accepting my identification with Antoine Brentano (there are enough elements for it), the 'fading' epilogue that Beethoven decided to give to the romantic affair leads me to a great compassion for the man-Beethoven: a feeling that I believe is similar to Armando's when he spoke of the legal will of 1827 (the one with the unsteady signature).

In any case—whoever that woman was—what moves me to human tenderness for Ludwig is the enormous importance she had in his heart, combined with the decision to leave the romantic affair sadly unfinished.

In the face of such power and completeness that can be felt in the echo of much of his music—like paths explored to horizons unimaginable to others—this matter of the heart, intentionally left without attempts to make it bloom, seems to me to be his sad Unfinished.

Poor Ludwig... and who doesn't have their own 'Unfinished' works in their life?...

LucaCavaliere wrote:

A feeling

Having accepted my identification with Antoine Brentano (there are enough elements for it), the 'fading' epilogue that Beethoven decided to give to the sentimental affair leads me to a great compassion for the man-Beethoven: a feeling that I believe is similar to Armando's when he spoke of the legal will of 1827 (the one with the unsteady signature).

In any case – whoever that woman was – what moves me to human tenderness for Ludwig is the enormous importance she had in his heart, combined with the decision to leave the sentimental affair sadly unfulfilled.

In the face of such power and completeness that can be felt in the echo of much of his music – like paths explored to horizons unimaginable to others –, this matter of the heart, intentionally left without attempts to make it bloom, seems to me to be his sad Unfinished.

Poor Ludwig… and who does not have Unfinished matters in their own life?...

My dear Luca, I think I have already told you this other times but, even here I want to repeat it to you: as you write, regardless of whether I agree more or less, I like it very much. Such is your delicacy in doing so and such is the sensitivity it radiates; therefore, thank you!

In reality, I felt very moved this time and I truly had to swallow a lump in my throat because of this sentence of yours!

How right you are in stating this!

It is true, I did not want to report other versions regarding the Immortal Beloved because, essentially, many of them have fallen away as hypotheses once the exact date of the writing of the letters was determined.

Professor Klaus Kropfinger, a Beethoven scholar, states that one can contest certain things about Solomon's thesis which are, in part, shareable - I speak for myself, naturally - and in part not. He does not indicate a name but believes that among the possibilities, Josephine Deim remains a candidate, even if their relationship had ended several years prior.

From my point of view, the only true alternative to Antoine is instead given by a mysterious woman, whose portrait was found among Beethoven's belongings after his death. We know nothing about this woman. She is none of the women that Beethoven officially knew, and her face remains nameless.

For those who wish to see her, you can find her here; she is the last woman on the list:

http://www.lvbeethoven.fr/Amours/BienAimee.html

danielescarpetti wrote:

In reality, I felt very moved this time and I truly had to swallow a lump in my throat because of this sentence of yours!

... the same thing happened to me when I wrote it... I didn't think I would reach this conclusion.

If Armando went for lemoncello cream, I, as I told you, after my final sentence should cling to a bottle of whisky.

hi everyone!

http://www.lvbeethov.../BienAimee.html

I am asking you a favor: look closely at the face of Antoine Brentano and that of the unknown woman; in your opinion, could they be the same woman or not?

ACC! Daniele!

It could also be!
The eyebrow shape seems the same to me. Also the way the eye folds towards the nose. Unfortunately, the nose is not very detectable in the anonymous portrait. Finally, the hair is both curly and reddish (the latter, that is, excluding dyeing and hairstyling!)

One would need to take a person who does not know the issue and ask them if among all the portraits there are two that could be the same person.

All the texts in my possession, besides Dominique's web page, distinguish between the two women. However, if one does an internet search for Antoine's portraits, this one pops up:

nrs=true&pf=p&output=search&sclient=psy-ab&oq=antoine+bre&gs_l=&pbx=1&fp=1&biw=1026&bih=632&cad=b&bav=on.2,or.r_qf

where they are attributed to her.

And so I wonder, is it an error or has someone already noticed a resemblance between the two women?

Thank you for posting the splendid An die ferne Geliebte; the passionate sincerity and the purity of soul of the Deaf God shine through. Lately, the sensations and evidence cited speak clearly, but if we had other evidence—perhaps those burned by Schindler or those buried in who knows where—we might clarify things or raise questions.

Every now and then I think that Beethoven wanted to lead us to such questions; partly to protect the identity of a married woman, and partly as a sublimation of his immense love.

We shall do his will because music is his access code to discover every truth, even the universal ones.

The image of the unnamed woman certainly recalls some traits of Antonie; it could be, as with Minona, that the enigma of a son remains—her fourth and last, named Karl; perhaps a DNA test could confirm Solomon's evidence.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=243989802360555&set=a.243989169027285.56411.243987685694100&type=1&theater here she can be seen with her two little children.

kaliel21 wrote:

Thank you for posting the splendid An die ferne Geliebte; the passionate sincerity and the purity of soul of the Deaf God shine through. Lately, the sensations and evidence cited speak clearly, but if we had other evidence—perhaps those burned by Schindler or those buried in who knows where—we might clarify or raise questions.

Every now and then I think that Beethoven wanted to lead us to such questions; partly to protect the identity of a married woman, and partly as a sublimation of his immense love.

We shall do his will because music is his access code to discover every truth, even the universal ones.

The image of the unnamed woman certainly recalls some traits of Antonie; it could be, as with Minona, that the enigma of a son remains as well—her fourth and last, named Karl; perhaps a DNA test could confirm Solomon's evidence.

https://www.facebook...&type=1 here she can be seen with her two little children.

Thank you!