| Author(s) | Karl Marx |
|---|---|
| Written | 11 May 1869 |
Dear Kugelmann
You must forgive my protracted silence. Firstly I have for several weeks been suffering from my liver complaint, which always afflicts me in the spring months and is the more troublesome in that it makes me almost entirely unfit for intellectual work. Secondly, however, I have been waiting from one day to the next for the photograph that you want and that Herr Fahnenbach, a German sleepyhead, has not delivered to this day.
My wife and youngest daughter are at the moment visiting the Lafargues in Paris, so that we are very lonely here.
With the best will in the world, I could not find any Palmerston pamphlets (mine) for you. The Urquhart publications against Russia and Palmerston, although containing a good deal that is correct, spoil everything through the crotchets of the great 'David'.
Your article sent to Engels. It will be difficult for us, in our complete isolation from the respectable press, to do anything for you in this field, but we shall try.
About the end of August I intend visiting you with my daughter and spending till the end of September with you in Germany, wherever you like, even at the risk of neglecting to finish my manuscript. I cannot, of course, stay any longer than that.
I read your letter to Borkheim.[1] You say quite rightly that the St Bartholomew nonsense about the Belgian massacres will not do. But you in your turn overlook the importance and the peculiar meaning of these events. Belgium, you must know, is the only country, where, year in, year out, swords and muskets have the last word to say in strikes. In an address of the General Council here, which I wrote in English and French, the situation is made clear. By tomorrow the English address will be ready. I will send it to you immediately.[2]
I have also just written an English address for the General Council of the International Association to the National Labour Union in the United States, in reference to the war with England, which the bourgeois republicans are just now wanting to stage.[3]
Herr Meissner[4] has had the (printed and corrected) manuscript of the 18 Brumaire since the end of January, but has constantly delayed printing it. That's pleasant too! He waits until the time when it would be effective is past, from stupid booksellers' business reasons.
With best greetings to your dear wife and Fränzchen.
Yours
Karl Marx