| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 29 October 1889 |
ENGELS TO WILHELM LIEBKNECHT
IN BORSDORF NEAR LEIPZIG
London, 29 October 1889
Dear Liebknecht,
I can tell you very little about the Prophet Gottschalk, having long since forgotten the creature. Moses Hess brought him into the League531 prior to 1848 and made him out to be a veritable prodigy. In Cologne early in March 1848 he posed as a working men's leader.[1] For the conditions as they then were, he was the perfect demagogue who flat- tered the masses at the very moment of their awakening and pandered to all their traditional prejudices—but apart from that he was a complete numskull, as befits a prophet, and for that reason actually regarded himself as a prophet. Moreover, as a genuine prophet he was above all scruples and thus capable of every kind of dirty trick. Whether he ever uttered the words you cite[2] seems to me doubtful; he would systemat- ically invent legends about himself. In short, he played a certain role in Cologne at the beginning of March and had quite crazy schemes, the details of which I have forgotten, that were supposed to work miracles overnight. All this was before our time. When we arrived in Cologne in April his star was very much on the wane and, when we foregathered there again, having finally decided to publish the paper,[3] it had all but set. The paper and our Workers' Association[4] placed him in a quandary; either he went along with us or he opposed us. Luckily for him, he and Anneke were arrested at the beginning of July—on account of speeches of some sort, I believe. They were acquitted at the end of 1848 or the beginning of 1849 (I have been vainly searching through the Neue Rheinische Zeitung for the date, etc., and shall have to discontinue the search if this letter is to go off). Thereupon the Prophet Gottschalk went into voluntary exile in Paris in the expectation of being recalled by gigantic demonstrations. But no one lifted a finger. After our departure Gottschalk returned to Cologne (it might even have been just before we left) and, having gained his former popularity on the strength of his medical practice in the poorer districts, went back into harness with a will at the outbreak of the cholera epidemic, treated his proletarian patients free of charge, contracted cholera himself, and died.
That is all I know. In Paris things would seem to have settled down again. Laf argue is by no means as bad as you make him out to be—Jourde is no Boulangist; rather, he masqueraded as a Boulangist in Bordeaux with the consent of the local party comrades, which I, of course, definitely disapprove of. The man has blundered and will have to pay for it, at any rate for the time being. If, however, he is all right in other respects, and that is some- thing I don't know, he may be restored to grace later on.
I'm very sorry that the Volks-Bibliothek[5] should have involved you in such losses. But in view of your lack of business experience it was only to be expected that Geiser would land you in the cart. After all, the rotten stuff he published was made no better by having your name on it, while the Schlesingeriad must inevitably have proved the last straw. That, I think, explains it all quite naturally, without your needing to seek the reason in the ill-will of others. You surely can't expect the party to enthuse over this Volks-Bibliothek. I too am having a bad time. Percy has gone bankrupt and the whole family is living here so as to avoid execution at their house; nothing has been decided yet. Negotiations are going on with the old man[6] but he maintains that he himself is in a mess—and he's really a bit cracked. In short Augustine is in a mess—O my darling Augustine, everything's gone.[7] H o w it will all end I don't know.
Warm regards from Lenchen and
Your
F. E.