| Author(s) | Karl Marx |
|---|---|
| Written | 28 May 1882 |
MARX TO ELEANOR MARX
IN LONDON
Monte Carlo, 28 May 1882
Hôtel de Russie
Dear Tussychen,
There was nothing from Bebel either in Engels' letter[1] or your letter which I got yesterday evening. It must have remained in London by mistake. AT ALL EVENTS, I WASH MY HANDS OF IT,
Today 24 degrees in the shade, and summer temperatures have generally prevailed here ever since the date of my last postcard to you (although the sky isn't as completely cloudless as the cognoscenti of this place demand). In such circumstances, my lengthy report has come to nothing for all my 'good intentions'; not that anything of much value is lost thereby.
As regards the sea-crossing from Algiers, nothing need be said save that it was made in unfavourable weather conditions; during the night of 4 to 5 May, in particular, there was a violent storm that turned my cabin (which, for good measure, I had to share with a philistine businessman from Lyons) into a veritable wind tunnel. It was cold and pouring with rain when we arrived off Marseilles in the early morning (5 May). The STEAMER didn't actually go right in, so the passengers and baggage had to be taken off by boat and, for their further delectation, spend several hours in a cold, draughty douane-purgatorio[3] until the time came for them to depart for Nice. Those chilling 'moments' détraquaient plus ou moins de nouveau ma machine[4] and, in Monte Carlo, once more precipitated me entre les mains d'un Esculape[5] [6] ; for I have no need of such when it's merely a question of treating the 'bronchial trouble' since all I have to do is follow Dr Stephann's instructions. In a few days' time (next Tuesday, 30 May, perhaps) I expect to be given a clean bill of health by Dr Kunemann. So whatever happens I shan't be leaving this den of thieves before the beginning of June. Whether I stay on or not is for Dr Kunemann to decide. The sensitivity of people suffering from disorders of the respiratory organs (who by the same token are also more liable to a relapse) is greater in what is normally a favourable climate. In the North, for instance, a sudden draught would not instantly evoke the spectre of pleurisy, bronchitis and the like, whereas in Algiers your French philistine must always [be] on his guard against them. A Madame Fleury, here in the Hôtel de Russie, was sent to Cannes from Paris because of her bronchitis. She recovered completely during March and April, enjoyed climbing the hills, etc. By way of an after-cure and distraction, she then left Cannes for Monte Carlo, a quite short 2-hour journey during which she caught cold while in Antibes station — and is now in worse case than previously in Paris. One hears of visitors to this place who haven't come simply to gamble and enjoy themselves, and of whom 9 out of every 10 undoubtedly fall victim to rechutes.[7]
Goethe, when he applauds a man for 'sloughing' his old snake's skin,[8] does not in all likelihood see the sloughing of artificially produced fausses peaux[9] as part of the rejuvenation process.
Another time, when it isn't as 'sweltering' as it is today, I must really tell you something about this Principality of Gerolstein (not even Offenbach's music is wanting, or Mademoiselle Schneider,[10] or, indeed, the spruce and dapper carabiniers[11] — not 100 all told). Nature here magnificent and art has actually improved on it,— I refer to the gardens, conjured out of the barren rock, which cover the steep incline from top to bottom, often going right down to the exquisitely blue sea, like the terraces of the hanging gardens of Babylon. But the economic basis of Monaco-Gerolstein is the casino; if it were to close tomorrow it would be all up with Monaco-Gerolstein — the whole of it. I dislike visiting the gaming room; it reminds me that at the table d'hôte,[12] in the cafés, etc., almost the only topic that is talked or whispered about is the tables de roulette et de trente et quarante.[13] Every now and again something is won, as for instance 100 frs by a young Russian lady (wife of a Russian diplomat-cum-agent) (she is one of the guests at the Hôtel de Russie) who, in return, loses 6,000 frs, while someone else can't keep enough for the journey home; others gamble away the whole of large family fortunes; very few take away a share of the plunder— few of the gamblers, I mean, and those that do are almost without exception rich. There can be no question of intelligence or calculation here; no one can count with any probability on being favoured by 'chance' unless he can venture a considerable sum. But I can understand the attraction it holds out, particularly for le beau sexe[14] ; les mondaines[15] not less than the demi-mondaines, SCHOOL-GIRLS and bourgeoises alike ALL PUSH ON, a fact to which this place can supply eye-witnesses and to spare. Apart from Monaco-Gerolstein, which would founder along with the casino, I don't believe that Nice — the rendez-vous in the winter months of the quality and of fortune-hunters alike — could continue to subsist as a fashionable centre without the casino at Monte Carlo. And withal, how childish is the casino by comparison with the Bourse!
(This pen and this ink need replacing; they elicit from me the outburst that it requires real artistry to write with them!)
To the right of the casino (where the gambling goes on), almost cheek by jowl with it, is the Café de Paris and next to that a kiosk. This is daily adorned with a placard, not printed, but handwritten and signed with the initials of the quill-pusher; for 600 frs he will provide, in black and white, the secret of the science of winning a million francs with a 1,000 at the tables de roulette et de trente-et-quarante. Nor, or so it is said, is it by any means rare for people to fall victim to this confidence trick. Indeed, most of the gamblers, both male and female, believe there is a science in what are pure games of chance; the ladies and gentlemen sit outside the said Café de Paris, IN FRONT of, or on the seats in, the wonderful garden that belongs to the casino, heads bent over little (printed) tables, scribbling and doing sums, while one of them may earnestly expound to another 'what system' he prefers, whether one should play in 'series', etc., etc. It's like watching a bunch of lunatics. However, Grimaldi of Monaco[16] and his Principality of Gerolstein and the lessees of his casino are thriving and are, AFTER ALL, more 'interesting' in the Offenbachian sense than those whom they fleece.
Should I change my address, / shall send it to you by telegraph. At all events the return journey, initially to Paris, will be made in stages and 'with caution'.
Love to all,
OLD NICK