| Author(s) | Karl Marx |
|---|---|
| Written | 3 May 1851 |
TO ENGELS IN MANCHESTER
[London,] 3 May 1851
Dear Engels,
Lupus himself has written to tell me that he has received from Cologne[1] a passport to England and the fares for himself and Dronke.[2] Dronke has also sent the people in Cologne[3] an essay on the Italian revolution.
Mais ce qu'il y a de drôle:[4] Dronke's signature is there for all to see—printed by Louis Blanc—beneath the address to the then committee for the celebration of the February Revolution. Nous lui demanderons des éclaircissements sur ce fait étrange. Dans le meilleur cas, ce n'est pas un trait d'esprit de la part de ce gnome.[5]
Becker[6] has removed his printing and publishing business to Verviers, and wouldn't appear to be harmed by the government's persecution. An instalment of my stuff has arrived here, but only one copy.[7]
The German Central Democratic Committee[8] here broke up at the very same time as the great Karl Heinzen announced that he would pay it 'military obedience'. The charming Kinkel has withdrawn, since he must, of course, avoid compromising himself on account of his dramatic lectures to respectable City men—12 lectures for 1 guinea: the charmer distributes these tickets through a committee (including Oppenheim of Berlin) to all and sundry, and has an audience of 300 or so. Haug, too, has quarrelled with everybody. Ruge, whose finances seem to be in extreme disarray, intended to buy a daguerreotype establishment and to travel the country as a daguerreotype photographer.
Weerth has written to me today in the highest dudgeon: he is sick of long noses and smoked meat. Besides, he says, he is threatened with 'an excellent situation'—marriage? but is too old to become a philistine. You know our friend Weerth. He soon gets bored, and soonest of all when surrounded by bourgeois comforts. His friend Campe, morosely indicating a pile of unsold copies, told him: 'Everything is well received but nothing sells.' And that's how things are generally in Germany.
This place is swarming with people of every kind. I don't think that this will inconvenience me in any way. For such of the industrialists as are liberal, radical or even simply curious are carefully bagged by Göhringer or the Kinkel clique and then immediately fed with scandal about us two. Tant mieux pour nous![9]
The library has been closed all this week. There's no more news of the red fool.[10]
Daniels writes to say that they are nowhere better represented than in Berlin, where they have at their disposal two 'gentlemen' and 'men of talent' who are very active.
Tupman[11] has the clap very badly. After a violent scene with Madame la baronne[12] they have partly made it up again but, as a result of his frivolity, his position is now more subordinate than it was.
Foucault's experiment with a pendulum is being demonstrated at the Polytechnical Institute here.
I shall send off the said letter to Daniels tomorrow.[13] Schramm, mirabile dictu,[14] has succeeded in obtaining a season ticket![15]
In his filthy rag[16] Heinzen has again been chucking his 'native' mud at me, the malheureux![17] The fellow's so stupid that, under the name Müller, Schramm is acting as a paid correspondent, and surreptitiously introducing all sorts of unsuitable tomfoolery, such as the Blanqui toast, etc., into his journalistic stuff.
A few days ago Willich met Bamberger,[18] whom he had seen once before. Walked up to him. Shook him by the hand: 'I've been very ill for 3 weeks. Couldn't leave the house. The revolution's going famously. We are very active, particularly here in London. Two new branches founded. Schapper's working like a Trojan.'
More another time. Next week I shall really get down to finding your L. Blanc sources at the library.
Your K. M.
My wife sends her regards. She was furious at the importunate way in which Pieper promptly thrust himself upon us.
By the way, you invariably make the Post Office the present of a penny. One will do.