This Max, my uncle, who’s been dead for seven years now, was once very handsome, indeed, extremely handsome, even according to modern standards. Exceedingly slender, exceedingly tall, and with a pug nose. Consequently, he had a love affair with his mother’s, my grand-mamma’s, very young seamstress. He bought himself a small villa with garden in Hietzing, on the High Street, and installed his seamstress there. She planted herself a bed of roses and carnations and was pleased that her dainty lovely little fingers no longer had to suffer from all the sewing. She even nursed them now with malatine and honey glycerin to make up for those awful torturous years. One day the family decided that my tall, handsome, slender uncle with the pug nose ought to make a “match.” “Alright,” he said, “à la bonheur. But what will become of Anna?” Anna was married off to a man who had been terribly fond of her since childhood and had only lacked “nervus rerum” to make her—pardon, himself, happy! Anna went along with everything, since it is better to go along with things when not to go along with them is of little use. So my uncle married and added another floor to the villa in Hietzing. A gardener was engaged to tend to the rose and carnation beds planted by Anna. One day my newlywed aunt said to my tall, handsome, slender uncle: “Say, who was that Anna anyway after whom these lovely well-kept carnations are named?” My uncle peered down at the speckled carnations and could not fathom why this Anna still mattered.
My uncle has been dead and gone for seven years now and my aunt is a grand-mamma. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the lovely bed of speckled Anna-Carnations in the garden of the Hietzing villa.