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In the remotest corner of Bavaria, far away from Munich, there lived a bugle player. He was, of course, Bavarian, because in the remotest corner of Bavaria only Bavarians can exist. It was just this fact that troubled the bugle player so much. Certainly, with his leather pants he looked completely like a Bavarian; what's more, he made it a strict practice to play only Bavarian music, puffing up his Bavarian cheeks as much as possible. But sometimes, deep in his heart, he felt like a stranger and became terribly frightened. |
| On top of this, one day, a general appeared to him in his dream who looked at him sternly and asked: "Well, are you really sure that only the leather pants make you already a Bavarian? Or are you perhaps a...? "Prussian," the Bavarian yelled and woke up from his nightmare, all covered with sweat. Not that he knew any Prussian, but he knew for sure that he didn't want to be one, because no Bavarian wanted to be a Prussian. But he had become a little curious. What did the Prussians look like? |
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