{Algiers,] Monday, 20 March [1882] 

My dear Paul, 

Your kind letter of 16 March was delivered to me today (20th) so 
that it seems to have taken far less time to get here than is usual for 
letters from London. 

First of all, my gallant Gascon, ‘what does Mustapha supérieur * 
refer to?’ Mustapha is a proper name like John. If you leave Algiers 
by the rue d’Isly, you see a long street in front of you. On one side of 
it, in the foothills, rise Mauretanian villas surrounded by gardens 
(one of these villas is the Hotel Victoria); on the other side— along 
the road — houses are spread out in descending terraces. All of this 
together is called Mustapha supérieur: Mustapha infeérieur * begins at 
the incline of Mustapha supérieur and stretches down to the sea. Both 
Mustaphas form a single commune (Mustapha) whose mayor (this 
gentleman bears neither an Arab nor a French name but a German 
one) communicates with the inhabitants from time to time by means 
of official notices—a very soft regime, as you see. New houses are 
constantly being constructed in Mustapha supérieur, old ones are be- 
ing demolished, etc., but although the workers engaged in this acti- 
vity are healthy people and local residents they go down with fever 
after the first three days. Part of their wages, therefore, consists of a 
daily dose of quinine supplied by the employers. The same practice 
can be observed in various places in South America. 

My dear augur. You are so well informed that you write: ‘You 
must be consuming all the French newspapers that are sold in Al- 
giers’; in actual fact I don’t even read the few newspapers which the 
other hotel residents in the Victoria receive from Paris; my political 
reading is entirely limited to the telegraphic announcements in the 
Petit Colon (a small Algerian paper similar to the Parisian Petzt- 
Journal, the Petite République Française, etc.). That’s all. 

Jenny wrote that she was sending Longuet’s articles which you 

* Upper Mustapha-? Lower Mustapha 

mention too, but I still haven’t received them. The only newspaper 
that I receive from London is L’Egalité, although you can’t call it 
a newspaper. 

What a strange fellow you are, St Paul! Where did you get the idea 
or who told you that I should ‘rub my skin with iodine’? You will 
interrupt me and say that this is a mere trifle, but it does reveal your 
method of the ‘material fact’. Ex ungue leonem.« In reality, instead of 
‘rubbing my skin with iodine’ I have to have my back painted with 
cantharidic collodion to draw out the fluid. The first time I saw my 
left side (chest and back) treated in this manner, it reminded me of 
a kitchen garden in miniature planted with melons. Since 16 March 
when I wrote to Engels ?°* there has not been a single dry place either 
on my back or my chest (the latter is also being treated) on which the 
operation could be repeated; this cannot happen now before the 
22nd. 

You say: ‘A letter of invitation is enclosed which will make you 
laugh.’ Es regular.» But how do you expect me to laugh when the ‘en- 
closed’ letter is still in your hands? When the opportunity arises, 
1 shall remind Mr Fermé of his former comrade — the Proudhonist 
Lafargue. At present, while Doctor‘ forbids me to go out, I am using 
the time to refuse frequent visits and prolonged conversations. 

The rains continue as before. The climate is so capricious; the 
weather changes from one hour to the next, going through every 
phase or suddenly leaping from one extreme to the other. However, 
there are signs of gradual improvement, but we shall have to wait. 
And just to think that from the moment of my departure for Marseil- 
les and right up to the present there has been the finest weather in 
both Nice and Menton! But there was this insistent idea — for which 
I was not responsible — of the African sun and the wonder-working 
air out here! 

Last Saturday we buried one of the residents of the Victoria, by the 
name of Armand Magnadere, in Mustapha supérieur; he was quite a 
young man sent here by Parisian doctors. He worked in 
a Paris bank; his employers continued to pay his salary in Algiers. To 
please his mother they arranged by telegraph to have his body exhu- 
med and sent to Paris——all at their expense. Such generosity is sel- 
dom met with even among people charged with ‘other people’s 
money’. 

* Judge the lion from his claws.-* Of course-° Stephann 
g P 

My sleep is gradually returning; someone who has not suffered 
from insomnia cannot appreciate that blissful state when the terror of 
sleepless nights begins to give way. 

Greetings to my dear Cacadou and to all the others. 

Yours, 
K. Marx