| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 21 October 1871 |
To Elisabeth Engels in Engelskirchen[1]
London, 21 October 1871
Dear Mother,
If I have not written to you for so very long, it was because I wanted to answer your latest comments on my political activity in a way that would not give you offence. And again and again, whenever I read the despicable lies in the Kölnische Zeitung, above all the monstrous fabrications of that swine Wachenhusen, when I saw how the very same people who, during the war, had seen nothing but lies in the whole of the French press, now trumpet forth in Germany as gospel every police invention and every piece of slander about the Commune by the most venal Paris gossipmonger, I kept falling into a mood that little inclined me to my task. In the case of the few hostages who were shot in the Prussian manner, the few palaces burned down on Prussian precedent, a great hue and cry is raised—for all the rest was nothing but lies—, but when it comes to the 40,000 men, women and children whom the Versailles troops massacred with machinery after people had been disarmed—no one murmurs a single word! However, you can know nothing of all that, because you have to depend on the Kölner and Elberfelder Zeitung, and the lies are really drummed into you. And yet you have in the course of your lifetime heard quite a few people denounced as veritable cannibals—the members of the Tugenbund[2] under the first Napoleon, the demagogues of 1817 and 1831, the men of 1848—and subsequently it always turned out that they were not so bad after all, and that the horror-stories initially put into circulation about them by interested parties, subsequently dissolved into thin air. I hope, dear mother, that you will recall this and give the men of 1871 the benefit of the doubt when you read of these imaginary atrocities in the newspaper.
You knew that I had not modified my opinions, opinions which I shall soon have held for 30 years, and it could not come as a surprise to you that, as soon as events compelled me to do so, I should not only speak up for them but would do my duty in other respects too. You would have to be ashamed of me if I failed to do so. If Marx were not here, or did not even exist, it would make absolutely no difference at all. It is therefore quite wrong to put the blame on him. Incidentally, I can also remember the time when Marx's relations maintained that I had been the ruin of him.
But enough of that. The situation cannot be changed now and it just has to be accepted. If things are quiet for a while, the fuss will die down anyway and you yourself will take a calmer view of the situation.
I spent some time in Ramsgate during September,[3] a small, or rather fairly large, seaside resort on the East coast, somewhat to the north of Dover. It is the most amusing resort I know, extremely informal, very pretty firm beach immediately beneath the steep chalk cliffs; the beach is full of fake Negro-minstrels, conjurers, fire-eaters, Punch-and-Judy shows and nonsense of that sort. The place is not very fashionable, but cheap and easy-going. The bathing is very good, and since it was cold it did me twice as much good, my appetite became truly insatiable and I slept fully 10 hours a day. Although I live in one of the most healthy districts of London, where the air is as good as in the country, or so a doctor assures me, I nevertheless perceived what a difference such a change of air makes. You really ought to think of enjoying the sea air for 3-4 weeks next summer which makes even the healthiest more healthy.
My interesting neighbour has for some time now left me in peace with her piano, she must be away. To make up for it, however, I have now acquired a musician on the other side, where some new houses have been built. There is a tailor's shop there and, above it, rooms are being let. Up to now, however, it is not too bad and I cannot complain.
It has been raining abysmally, which comes very unexpectedly after the splendid autumn days we have had, and I am having to make a fire, whereas even 3 days ago it was so sultry that I could not bear to be in a room without open windows. In general, however, the weather here is much better than in Manchester, it hardly ever rains all day long, whereas in Manchester at this season it often rains without a break for 2-3 days on end.
From what Hermann and Emil[4] are saying it appeared to me that it will probably take some time before their relations with Adolf[5] have got back on an even keel. If they do not see each other for a time, that will make it easier. At all events, it is good that the disagreement has been resolved, at least on the main points. Once the financial side has been sorted out, at least there can be no further occasion for dispute. I hope that all will resolve itself with time.
For the rest, I am well and cheerful and have returned to my first love, namely my long pipe, having finally managed to discover a reasonable tobacco here. This evening I have put aside a special pleasure for myself: despite the rain I am going to the Viennese beerhall in the Strand, where for once I shall be able to drink my fill; Emil Blank junior called in for a moment a few days ago, otherwise I never get to see the young madcap, since I hardly ever go to the CITY.
Good-bye for now, give my cordial greetings to all my brothers and sisters, and do not be cross with me for my long silence.
With all my heart,
Your
Frederick
You can tell Emil Blank that Marx does not need any money from me. But I should like to see the expression on the face of that same Emil Blank if I were to advise him about how to spend his money.