| Author(s) | Karl Marx |
|---|---|
| Written | 15 July 1878 |
MARX TO SIGMUND SCHOTT
IN FRANKFURT AM MAIN
[London,] 15 July 1878
Dear Friend,
I got your letter on the very day I had already sent you a brief note[1] by a roundabout route.
In your last letter but one (of 30 June), you asked me nothing save whether some of the comments in the German press on my first epistle to The Daily News[2] had reached me. Answer: no.
I would not dream of dedicating a 'book' to Mr Bucher. He owes me an answer to my 30 lines.[3] I have neither the time nor any reason to supply the 3,000 lines he deems necessary in place of his own.[4] This fable is the progeny of the London correspondent of the Vossische Zeitung, he, so far as I am aware, being Dr Elard Biscamp, a notorious blackguard.[5] This time, however, his bad joke has come off.
The state of my health bids me go to Karlsbad. But Mr Bismarck, who was so urgently bidden to go to Kissingen, doesn't want me to.[6] что делать? (que faire?), as the Russians say.[7]
Look round for a makeshift in the shape of a British seaside resort not as yet under the aegis of the new Holy Alliance's[8] saviours of society. My wife is seriously ill and will probably have to go to Karlsbad; it seems unlikely that her ex-ladyship, the ex-Baroness von Westphalen, will be regarded as contraband.
I trust your trip will do you good. Should you spend any length of time in one place, you might write to me from there. I shall probably have an article of mine in English (not yet printed)[9] to send you which, however, will have absolutely nothing to do with the good FATHERLAND, AS THE ENGLISH CALL IT.
With kindest regards,
Yours,
Karl Marx