| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 17 March 1851 |
TO MARX IN LONDON
[Manchester,] 17 March 1851
Dear Marx,
I have had a very tiresome attack of influenza, which has rendered me incapable of anything, whether sensible or otherwise, hence my silence. All I could do last week was send you a POST OFFICE ORDER—which you'll have received. The 5 shillings are for Lenchen, who happened to be out when I left your house. If at all possible, I will send you the £2 for HIPHIPHURRAH[1] if not this week, then next week at the latest. Schramm can take it to him.
Not having heard anything from you up to the present—since sending you Weerth's letter—I, of course, am completely in the dark and am, moreover, still awaiting Willich's precious letters[2] . I have not seen The Friend of the People containing Schramm's statement[3] ; the thing arrives here at very irregular intervals. Ask Schramm to send me a copy sous bande[4] ; he should be able to get one easily enough if he has none to hand. It is good to hear that Landolphe has in the end turned out to be an arrant coward. I am still waiting for him to send me the famous letter.
I am dreadfully irritated by the stupidity of the arrangements here, which make regular and uninterrupted swotting virtually impossible. I have no access to one of the libraries, and in the other, public one, things of immediate interest to me are only to be found sporadically, and the hours are inconvenient, hence all I have to fall back on is the wretched Athenaeum, where nothing is to be had and whose library is in the most frightful disorder. For instance, I have again been vainly pursuing the Napier[5] , and it always takes 2-3 weeks before one can get hold of the next volume. In despair I have taken out Cicero's Letters[6] which I have been using to study the règne de Louis Philippe and the corruption of the Directoire. A very jolly chronique scandaleuse. Cicero is really priceless; Professor Krug and Sebastian Seiler rolled into one. Since the world began the ranks of respectability have been able to boast no more infamous canaille than this fellow. I shall duly take excerpts from this charming little volume. No more for today.
Your
F. Engels