| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 25 January 1851 |
TO MARX IN LONDON
[Manchester,] Saturday [25 January 1851]
Dear Marx,
Je te trouve joli en me disant que je suis taciturne comme la mort![1] However, I'll refrain from making any further riposte.
The perfidy of that Pomeranian blackguard, Ruge, is crude beyond all measure.[2] It would be the simplest if you were to draft a statement to be signed by us both.[3] A few personal remarks could, if necessary, be appended in the form of notes and signed separately by each of us. I don't know whether I should add something on my own account, if only to say that, in my commercial employment, I have maintained complete independence and hence do not have to let myself be ordered by my 'principals', as Mr Ruge was by his superior Mazzini, despite all his earlier atheistic boasting,[4] to append my signature to moving appeals to the bon dieu[5] ; and that I have adopted this line so as not to fall into the necessity, congenial enough to other worthy gents held up to us as an example by Mr Ruge, namely, of living on democratic charity—or some such. Tell me if you think this is necessary.
The article, by the way, with its moral indignation and its monumental lies, provides splendid stuff for ridicule. It immediately puts one on the track of Ruge's intrigues. It's very natural that Mr Ruge and Mazzini's European Committee should be as incense in the nostrils of the worthy Reverend Dulon, and that Mazzini's sublime manifestos should find their only fertile soil in Germany among those wailing North German, Lower-Saxon democrats swimming in Bremen-concocted, belletristic, drivel-sauce. These gentlemen's Friendship of Light[6] was bound to find desirable allies in Ronge-Mazzini and in the now once more god-fearing Ruge, while the honour of officially corresponding as the 'German Committee' with the greatest men of respectable European democracy must inevitably have made that malleable parson Dulon receptive to the worst scurrilities levelled against the 'frivolous' and godless folk of the Neue Rheinische Zeitung. Ruge, too, has only plucked up courage since coming to believe that the Revue is dead. But I think he is mistaken and will shortly bring down a pretty thunderstorm upon his ludicrous cranium.
Would it not be a good idea—since we cannot possibly raise a real shindy about this article or reply to it anywhere save in the Tages-Chronik[7] —to have the aforesaid Dulon secretly worked upon by his friend, red Becker[8] ? After these scurrilities we can't even be sure that our reply will be accepted.
But it is clear as day that it was only Schramm's[9] fatuous manner and the ill-considered prating which, to judge by this article, he indulged in at his brother's,[10] that inspired these jackasses with sufficient courage to vent themselves so vulgarly against us, the 'isolated and forsaken by all'. The fellow will now himself realise how base are the machinations whose tool he has become, and he must also realise that his stupidity harms himself more than others. The great Ruge doesn't even pay him the half-hearted court he pays to Tellering. 'C. Schramm, not to be confused!'[11] What's the fellow up to now? Cette affaire est de peu d'importance.[12] Trumped-up and misconstrued tittle-tattle, clumsy and incomprehensible insinuations and moral bombast—nous avons soutenu, Dieu merci, de bien autres charges ![13] The only unpleasantness is that the thing will upset your wife so much, which, as things are now, is undesirable.[14]
Next week in The Friend of the People I shall duly take the European Committee to task and have already notified Harney.[15]
I must stop now, as the office is just closing and it's nearly time for the post. More anon.
Your
F. E.