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Special pages :
Letter to Friedrich Engels, April 18, 1882
| Author(s) | Karl Marx |
|---|---|
| Written | 18 April 1882 |
Printed according to the original in Marx-Engels Collected Works, Volume 46
MARX TO ENGELS
IN LONDON
[Algiers,] Tuesday, 18 April 1882
DEAR FRED,
Got your letter yesterday, likewise Tussy's, together with the 'imperial' remittance.[1]
In my last letter to Laurachen I announced the arrival of our '2 finest days'; but even before I had finished the letter, the sirocco (the official weather bulletins, like other French printed matter, spell it sometimes with one c, sometimes with 2) began to blow and the din served me as an overture to the mouvements atmosphériques intenses which had been predicted. I admitted to Laura that I was tired of such things — if not, indeed, tired of Africa, and was determined to turn my back on Algiers the moment Dr Stephann DID NO LONGER
'WANT ME'.
From the 14th April (afternoon) to the 17th April, gusts of wind, storms, heavy downpours, burning sunshine, continual ups and downs, now hot now cold (almost from one hour to the next). First thing this morning gloriously fine, but now, at 10 A.M., the wind is already piping its maddening tune.— In its report — or rather forecast— yesterday, the meteorological office announced an intense mouvement atmosphérique for 3-4 May, but more especially for 7-8 May (not having pro nunc[2] probed any further into the future); in addition, for the first week of this self-same May, it has promised us so CALLED seismiques mouvements (apparently the periodicity of these seismiques coincides with latent earth tremors).
Dr Stephann called on the 16th (Sunday), percussed, and declared that there was no longer any trace of pleurésie[3] (AS FAR AS TO 'rechute'[4]); on the other hand he was, he said, less satisfied with the bronchial condition (also on the left) than when he last examined me. However, he painted away with great vigour (a vigour I damned well had time to appreciate in the course of Sunday afternoon—16 April — and night, and right into the small hours of Monday—17 April!).— Incidentally, Dr Stephann shares my view that bronchial trouble is inseparable from this weather and, such being the case, any prolongation of my stay here could only have unfavourable consequences. He thinks he will be able to let me leave, with a written diagnosis, at the end of April unless something unforeseen should happen — e. g. the weather here take a distinct turn for the better or, which seems unlikely, my health take a turn for the worse. All things being equal, then, I should leave on 2 May, being delivered back to Marseilles by the selfsame Said under the same Captain Mace (very nice chap) who brought me to Algiers, and from there should go and try my luck at Cannes, Nice or Menton. So don't send me either letters or anything in the way of documents or newspapers from London, unless it be JUST AFTER THE RECEIPT OF THESE LINES. But should I change my mind in the meantime, I shall at once notify you from here.
I am afraid that Longuet may arrive in Algiers after not only I, but also the Casthelaz FAMILY, have evacuated Africa; all the world's preparing to take flight. You must excuse the meagreness of this MISSIVE. The night of the 16th to 17th April was sleepless because of the vigour of the painting; no pain from the 17th to the 18th April because the ASSISTANT DOCTOR[5] had already attended to me by 7 o'clock yesterday morning; but the itching due to the formation of new skin banished sleep for the 2nd night running. Since, in addition, I went for a stroll (2 whole hours) very early this morning, iiw begrijp[6] (I can no longer recall how the Dutch spell it, but I still hear the ü begreipt — what it's got to do with 'concept', God alone knows — as enunciated in the old days at Zalt-Bommel by Pastor Rothhausen's[7] wife, since divorced and replaced by my cousin[8]), IN ONE WORD, as you can conceive, I have got to lay my head on my pillow and make up for some sleep. Meanwhile:— sleep, what would'st thou more? Only first let me tell you about the rotten trick played by the French authorities on a poor, thieving Arab, a poor, multiple assassin by profession. Only at the last minute — ON THE MOMENT, as the infamous COCKNEYS say, 'TO LAUNCH' the poor sinner 'INTO ETERNITY' did he discover that he wasn't going to be shot but guillotined! This, in defiance of prior arrangements! In defiance of promises! He was guillotined despite what had been agreed. But that wasn't all. The French having always permitted this hitherto, his relatives had expected the head and body to be handed over to them so that they could sew the former to the latter and then bury the 'whole'. Quod non![9] Howls, imprecations and gnashing of teeth; the French authorities dug their heels in, the first time they had done so! Now, when the body arrives in paradise, Mohammed will ask, 'Where have you left your head? Or, how did the head come to be parted from its body? You're not fit to enter paradise. Go and join those dogs of Christians in hell!' And that's why his relations were so upset.
Your
OLD Moor
On closer inquiry—I hadn't asked him before — Stephann told me that, although he doesn't speak German, he is the son of a German. His father emigrated to Algiers from the Palatinate (Landau).