| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 14 December 1866 |
ENGELS TO MARX
IN LONDON
Manchester, 14 December 1866
Dear Moor,
You just would not believe how overrun I am at present by all manner of folk. Young men recommended by customers, seeking positions here; agents, or such as would like to be so; then this week my most likeable nephew Blank[1] as well, who has established himself in London—and so it goes on continuously, and you will realise how difficult it is thereby to find the time to write. Then, from time to time, I also get someone arriving on the doorstep like the writer of the enclosed letter[2] and putting a pistol to my breast. When I read the letter, I knew at once who had sent this sterling fellow to plague me—it was good old Dr Rode, as the said sterling fellow indeed confirmed when he came up to my office. This shameless Rode is taking some weird liberties in my regard. First, he makes the silliest kind of trouble between myself and Klings after the latter called here,[3] and then he even goes so far as to send people like that to plague me, referring them to me as cashier for the whole émigré community. If the fellow attempts anything else of that kind with me, he may be sure of a warm response. Why cannot he leave me be, I do not know him at all?
The Prussian swine are certainly behaving quite splendidly. I would indeed not have imagined them to be quite so stupid, but it is really impossible to imagine them stupid enough. That is all to the good. Things are on the move again now, and the revolution will come all the sooner for it, and this time heads are bound to roll, as you yourself say.
They are locking up the office, and I must close, too. Enclosed two five-pound-notes:
I/S 38969 and I/S 62239, Manchester, 26 January 1866. That is as much as I can risk sending until I know how I stand, and I cannot check on it until the books are made up.
Kindest regards to your wife and children.
Your
F. E.