Once upon a time there was an emperor who ruled over a land that was immeasurably large, beautiful, and prosperous. Like every other emperor, he possessed a treasure-chamber, in the midst of which, among all the shining, glittering jewels, there lay a horn. But this was no ordinary instrument. For when one peered inside its finger holes—Oh, what wonders there were to behold! There was a landscape inside, minuscule but teeming with life. A landscape where Böcklinesque clouds drifted over lakes straight out of a Leistikow painting, where Reznicek's daughters turned up their noses at Zille-style caricatures as one of Meunier's peasant girls passed by with an armful of Orlik's flowers—in short one could find the whole of modern painting inside that horn. Not that the emperor gave two hoots.
Translated by Pól Peist