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Updated: May 28, 2025
Judge Samuel Kunz and the dentist, Oscar Pottpetschmidt, who was an excellent singer. The three old friends had often talked about Christophe, and they had played all his music that they could find. Pottpetschmidt sang, Schulz accompanied, and Kunz listened. They would go into ecstasies for hours together. How often had they said while they were playing: "Ah! If only Krafft were here!"
Schulz and Kunz shouted in reply and also waved their arms; they rushed to the big man's compartment and he ran to meet them, jostling the people on the platform. Christophe was amazed and ran after them asking: "What is it?" And the others shouted exultantly: "It is Pottpetschmidt!" The name did not convey much to him. He had forgotten the toasts at dinner.
Then he gave the precious paper back to Schulz, who was laughing happily, looked at him and wagged his head and said: "Ah! well ... Ah! well!..." After a moment's thought and after drawing in and expelling a cloud of tobacco smoke he put his hand on Schulz's knee and said: "We must tell Pottpetschmidt." "I was going to him," said Schulz. "I will go with you," said Kunz.
Fortunately the announcement of supper muzzled Pottpetschmidt. Another field for his valor was opened for him; he had no rival there; and Christophe, who was a little weary with his exploits in the afternoon, made no attempt to vie with him. It was getting late. They sat round the table and the three friends watched Christophe; they drank in his words.
What shall we do?" asked Kunz. "Krafft absolutely must hear Pottpetschmidt," said Schulz. He thought for a moment and said: "We must sent him a telegram." They went to the post office and together they composed a long and excited telegram of which it was very difficult to understand a word, Then they went back. Schulz reckoned: "He could be here to-morrow morning if he took the first train."
And then he proposed another toast "to noble music," another to his old friend Kunz, another to spring, and he did not forget Pottpetschmidt. Kunz in his turn drank to Schulz and the others, and Christophe, to bring the toasts to an end, proposed the health of dame Salome, who blushed crimson.
He knew that his told friend Kunz had lied to him that very afternoon, and that he would never see again the books which his other friend, Pottpetschmidt, had borrowed for a few days, which was hard for a man who, like himself, was as attached to his books as to living people. Many other sad things, old or new, would come to him. He tried not to think of them, but they were there all the same.
Pottpetschmidt found in it the pleasure of tickled vanity and physical exercise. Neither of them troubled to understand him. But Schulz absolutely forgot himself; he loved. It was late. The two friends went away in the night. Christophe was left alone with Schulz. He said: "Now I will play for you alone."
He had sent his patients away, cut his business appointments and taken the first train in his haste to return, but the infernal train had missed the connection on the main line; Pottpetschmidt had had to wait three hours at a station; he had exhausted all the expletives in his vocabulary and fully twenty times had narrated his misadventures to other travelers who were also waiting, and a porter at the station.
He went in and put down his lamp and came back immediately. The two old men went on arm in arm. Pottpetschmidt lived at the other end of the village. Schulz and Kunz exchanged a few absent words, but they were both pondering the news. Suddenly Kunz stopped and whacked on the ground with his stick: "Oh! Lord!" he said.... "He is away!"
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