Wednesday, 17 July 1878

I was painting when fat Afrossimoff arrives, and we set about making music. In general no one has ever insisted on the charm of what I do — excepting, however, my voice, which visibly moves all who hear it: even when I am ill, even when it is dimmed, even when I am not singing but merely speaking.
Here is a letter from Multedo, and here my reply — you will not be surprised that I reply once you have read it. ^5^ Mont-de-Marsan (Landes), 5 July 1878. Mademoiselle, In writing to you I avail myself of the right you were so good as to accord me, and yield to the irresistible need to recall myself to your memory. Recently you reproached me for never having fought a duel. Chance nearly filled that gap: a provincial journalist having taken it upon himself to attack my family in a rag of a newspaper, I came to demand satisfaction of him.
Where am I to find a fearless man who will not retreat after offending me? Is it my fault if I never have dealings with anything but prudent people? On the subject of encounters — has your guitar recovered from its encounter with me? I dispatched it to you before leaving. I hope you will let me know you have received it, at least in the terms one employs toward a luthier who sends you an instrument and to whom one acknowledges receipt. I lay my homage at your feet and at those of Madame your aunt. A. MULTEDO.