| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 25 August 1876 |
ENGELS TO MARX
IN KARLSBAD[1]
Ramsgate, Friday, 25 August 1876
Dear Moor,
Your letter arrived here on Tuesday and is now circulating among your daughters.[2] No one here envies you your 28 hours of roving between Cologne and Karlsbad[3] ; on the other hand, there's been much wagering as to the amount of Bavarian 'liquid' that helped to see you through your many vicissitudes.
A week ago on Monday Lenchen[4] arrived here from Hastings where she had been spending Sunday with Jenny and the Lafargues; despite being rather seedy, she went into the water, thereby incurring a frightful headache that lasted two days; a second attempt only made matters worse, so she had to give it up. She went home on Tuesday, and the day after that, the day before yesterday, your wife turned up here; she is noticeably better than she was—six weeks ago at any rate. She does a great deal of walking, her appetite is good and she seems to be sleeping very well. After being fortified by me at the station with a glass of port, she and Lizzie are loafing about on the SANDS and rejoicing at not having to write any letters. Sea-bathing has done Lizzie a power of good and I hope that this time it will last the winter through.
At this moment Ramsgate is populated almost exclusively by small GREENGROCERS and other quite small SHOPKEEPERS from London. These people stay here a week, for as long as the RETURN TICKET is valid, and then make way for others of the same ilk. It's the former day-trip public which now takes a week off. At first sight one would think they were working men, but their conversation immediately betrays the fact that they are RATHER ABOVE THAT and belong to quite the most disagreeable stratum of London society—they're the kind who, in speech and manner, are already preparing themselves, after the inevitably impending bankruptcy, for the no less inevitably impending career of COSTERMONGER. And now, let Tussy imagine her old friend Gore on the SANDS of a morning, surrounded by 30 or 40 dames de la halle[5] of that ilk.
In view of the ever denser stultification induced by the seaside, the most suitable reading has, naturally enough, been Mr Dühring's natural philosophy of reality.[6] Never have I encountered anything so natural. Everything occurs naturally since everything is regarded as natural that occurs naturally to Mr D., which is why he invariably takes his departure from 'axiomatic propositions', for what is natural requires no proof. As far as banality goes, the thing is absolutely unprecedented. Poor though it is, the part dealing with nature is by far the best. Here, at any rate, there are still some withered remains of dialectical phraseology, but no sooner does he touch on social and historical conditions than the old metaphysic prevails in the form of morality, and then he gets well and truly onto the wrong tack and turns helplessly round and round in circles. His horizon barely extends beyond the area covered by the common law of the land and, for him, Prussian officialdom represents 'the state'. We shall be returning to London a week today and then I shall at once settle down to work on the fellow. The nature of the eternal truths he preaches will be apparent to you from his three bêtes noires—tobacco, cats and Jews—and they get it hot and strong.
Tussy's letter to Lenchen has just arrived here; I shall forward it to London directly.
With their hullaballo about TURKISH ATROCITIES,[7] The Daily News and old Russell have done the Russians a signal service and splendidly paved the way for the latter's next campaign, which may begin as soon as the liberal gents have taken the helm here. The liberal provincial press is even now sounding the alarm and, since OLD Dizzy[8] has retreated to the HOUSE OF LORDS,[9] it will no doubt be the liberal ranters who will lay down the law in the next session in the COMMONS. Not a word is said, of course, about the infamies perpetrated by the Montenegrins and Herzegovinians. Luckily the Serbs are getting knocked for six—even Forbes, who, by the way, is again the one solitary rational war correspondent, speaks with unmistakable admiration of the superior military prowess of the Turkish troops—and it isn't so easy for the White Tsar[10] to intervene.
Your wife and Lizzie send much love to Tussy as also to yourself.
Your
F. E.