| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 16 December 1851 |
To Marx in London
[Manchester,] 16 December 1851
Dear Marx,
Herewith a letter from Weydemeyer which reached me at midday today. So far, the news is quite good, Heinzen's paper[1] about to expire and Weydemeyer already in a position to bring out a weekly.[2] But the demand to send off an article to him by Friday evening is rather too much—particularly under present circumstances. And yet this is just the moment when people there are pining for arguments and cogent facts about the French business, and if one could say something sensational about the situation, the success of the enterprise would be assured in the very first number. But that's just the snag, and as usual I shall again pass on the difficulty to you and, whatever I may write, it will not at any rate be about Krapiilinski's coup de tête.[3] You, at any rate, can write a diplomatic non-committal-epoch-making article for him. What I shall do, I don't know yet, but shall at any rate attempt something or other. I cannot send the Schnapper,[4] firstly because the first chapter is weak, and secondly because I have dropped the thing altogether now that History is starting to write comic novels—a rather too dangerous form of competition. Meanwhile I'll introduce a few more comic scenes into the plot and then begin the thing again—but it would be quite unsuitable for them over there and in any case Weydemeyer wants stuff with our names at the bottom. Write and tell me by return what you propose to do; le temps presse,[5] Saturday's steamer won't reach New York before the New Year and that's bad; even worse is the short respite still left us.
Weydemeyer must really keep his fingers out of the American pie until he is able to get the local names right. It's a pity he hasn't the time to orient himself first and learn a little English. The 'abolutionists' would make a splendid tidbit for Heinzen. As for Weerth, I shall see him here tomorrow or the day after and find out what he can do. Next week, or maybe even on Saturday evening, I shall be in London,[6] when we can discuss matters further; meanwhile there remains only the question of what is to be done for the first number; this cannot be put off, so you must write and tell me by return what you propose to do.
To judge by this letter Weydemeyer certainly appears to be still somewhat 'green' in regard to business matters; I shall drop him such hints on the subject as are necessary. As yet he knows nothing whatever about his readers.
Lupus might also bestir himself and see what he can produce for the first number. Weydemeyer will be very hard put to it to find material.
What do you think of the French funds, which yesterday were standing at 101.50 c.,—1½ per cent above par—and which, better than any venal lies in the press, will pull in a mass of votes for Louis Napoleon. He's even being helped by the excesses of the peasantry in the south and central parts of France.[7] Some did undoubtedly occur, nor could anything else be expected of this race of barbarians. The fellows don't give a rap for the government, etc., etc., but think only of tearing down the tax collector's or notary's house, raping his wife and killing the man himself if they can lay hands on him. In itself the matter is au fond[8] of scant significance and serves these gentlemen perfectly right, but it drives into Napoleon's camp everyone who has anything to lose. In fact, the invasion of native barbarians, should it ever come to pass, promises to be an amusing spectacle, and happy are those under whose governance such agreeable events take place. The present rise in the funds is assuredly no longer a mere government manoeuvre but the expression of the fear—translated into confidence in Louis Napoleon—felt by haute finance[9] of being flayed alive, as depicted in such vivid colours by the truthful Constitutionnel.
Write to me at once, then, about Weydemeyer.
Your
F. E.