Translation (as good as it goes): In the picture we see five Men. Four of the Men hate the fifth and the threat of violence hangs in the air. The reason is obvious; the little Man to the right is playing cornet, shit-loud, right in the face of the others.
He has even taken a belt over His kidneys which allows Him to come up in abnormal volume levels without any flaws in the performance. We do not know how long he has been there and played, but everyone who heard the potential sound pressure of a cornet, at distance of two decimetres, understands that every note is cutting through the bone and marrow of the poor other musicians .The man who is most vulnerable and whose eardrums have already sprung a leak is sitting down with an impressively bad posture, like a lost man praying. He sits poised at the edge of the chair with thighs pointing down and with prominent shoulders and arms hanging almost paralysed by His sides. Right behind him, we see a guy with some sort of women's polo with too short sleeves and a majestic sparse moustache. Why no one told him that it is a completely stillborn project to attempt to control a handsome moustache when you have thinner facial hair than most short ladies around in their seventies, I don't know!Beside him is a guy who we do not see much of, whom has more than a frown, it's a look of deepest distaste.Next to him, however, we find the guy that looks most likely to explode. His prominent face and intense gaze suggests that he probably will be the one, of all the gentlemen, who steps forward and draws a line on the whole masquerade, perhaps by politely but firmly pushing the cornet up the blowers rectum.