| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 1 July 1873 |
ENGELS TO LUDWIG KUGELMANN
IN HANOVER
London, 1 July 1873
Dear Kugelmann,
The entire story about Marx's illness stems from that idiot Barry, who got it into the newspapers[1] and who will be given a good telling-off for it when he shows his face again.
The actual situation is as follows: From time to time but to an increasing extent over a period of years now, Marx has suffered from insomnia, which he has always tried to explain away with all sorts of unconvincing reasons, e.g. a persistent cough in the throat, but which remained even when the cough had been cured. The real slog with the French translation of Capital (he more or less has to rewrite the whole thing from the beginning), the urgings of the publisher and unpleasantness connected both with this and other things exacerbated the situation. However, he could not be brought to stop overworking himself until finally he began to experience a conspicuous pressure at the top of the head and the insomnia increased to an unbearable point where even very powerful doses of chloral had no effect. I knew about these symptoms from Lupus[2] who had also worked himself sick, was then neglected by his doctor and was finally treated for what was falsely diagnosed as meningitis. So I told Marx straightaway that he had the same thing as Lupus and that he must stop working. He first tried to shrug it off with bad jokes, but soon discovered that the more he forced himself the less work he could do. So I finally prevailed on him to go to Manchester and consult Gumpert.[3] The latter just happened to be in Celle on a visit to his cousin Captain Wachs, so that Marx had about 12 days in Manchester to recover before Gumpert returned. I had written to Gumpert,[4] giving my opinion, and had also told him that Marx usually recovered very quickly. Gumpert thought my diagnosis was completely correct and put Marx under a strict regime: not more than 2 hours work in the morning and 2 in the evening, insisted on breakfast and exercise after breakfast, light wines with soda-water, plenty of movement, open bowels, a prescription I have not seen, a very powerful dose of chloral if the insomnia persisted, etc. Marx returned from Manchester much improved and even if he cannot quite keep it up, which is more than can be expected, he is nevertheless much better than previously, even on bad days. My intention is to take him right away from his work routine soon for a while, something which Gumpert incidentally also recommends as a definitive antidote, and if he can only get 2-3 weeks rest and fresh air, he will be in a better state to take a few knocks. At all events he now sleeps 4-5 hours a night without chloral and 1-1½ hours after luncheon, and that is more than he has done for almost a year—in The Hague, for example, he hardly slept at all. Moreover, he knows that this time it is serious and sticks to the stipulations with an almost pedantic strictness, and, since any deterioration is immediately apparent, I can always preach rest and convalescence in good time.[5]
Otherwise, things are more or less all right—Jenny[6] is looking forward to giving birth (but do not let her see that I have told you)—Lafargue and I have finished the pamphlet on Bakunin and the Alliance commissioned by the Congress, and as soon as it has been approved by the Commission,[7] it will go into print; it is sure to cause a terrible row.[8] Lafargue and Dupont have started up a workshop to make brass instruments so as to exploit a patent taken out by Dupont; Serraillier will act as their salesman. Johannard has gone to Liverpool, Vichard pretends to be engaged in business transactions, Mottershead goes on drinking, Hales and Jung have failed spectacularly in their efforts to play at secession here, Eccarius has disappeared without trace now that Parliament is not to be dissolved. I have sent other news items to the Volksstaat, where you will be able to read them in the next issue.[9]
With best wishes,
Your
F. Engels