| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 27 May 1877 |
ENGELS TO MARX
IN LONDON
Brighton, 27 May 1877
42 King's Road
Dear Moor,
My obstinate silence must have surprised you. I've had a damned awful week with my eye: the bright sunlight has done it no good. I have been wearing spectacles all day for a week now and given alcohol the sack, but experienced no improvement at all to begin with. Only since yesterday has there been any definite change, inasmuch as I am no longer aware of my eye. When I come up to London 249 (Friday[1] ) I shall definitely put paid to the thing; I'm sick of a condition which prevents me doing anything at all.
The stupid English papers carry tales of the enormous advances made by the Russians in Armenia[2] of which, so far, there have been very few. But unless the softas in Constantinople soon bestir themselves,[3] Muhtar Pasha may wreak considerable havoc.— It's characteristic of the way the war is being conducted on the Danube that the Tsar[4] has to put in an appearance before anything is done. For the rest, the administration of the Russian army would actually seem to have been better so far than might have been expected; however, we shall see how things go when the real campaign begins. But the decision lies with Constantinople and is now becoming an urgent necessity.
Monsieur Mac-Mahon, too, seems to have gone off the rails with his coup de tête[5] .28s It is not proving attractive, nor, despite all efforts, will the Bourse really swallow the bait. Moreover his avowed intention of remaining within the bounds of legality is evidence that the results are not consistent with the promises made by Broglie & Co. If the French stand firm this time and vote properly, or at any rate no worse than last time, they may well be quit of this kind of reaction once and for all. The course things are taking shows that this coup does not envisage the use of force and, even if there was a subsequent attempt in that direction, it would probably misfire. A coup d'état cannot, like a bill of exchange, be fixed up at three months' date. Nor, come to that, is Broglie a man of blood, but rather a parliamentary intriguer who will certainly miss the right moment, even if Mac-Mahon's scruples and vacillations had not made this a virtual certainty from the start. Enfin[6] , the affair is taking an exceedingly favourable course, and if the electors allow the prefects, etc., to treat them like enfranchised cattle on this occasion, they will only be getting their deserts; but it doesn't look as though they will. What luck for that old swine Thiers if Mac-Mahon presents an ultimatum— favourable elections or else I resign! Idiot!
Your
F. E.