| Author(s) | Karl Marx |
|---|---|
| Written | 2 August 1851 |
[London,] 2 August 1851 28 Dean Street, Soho
Dear Weydemeyer,
Engels has just sent me your letter, which I hasten to answer. I would, of course, have liked very much — if it was impossible to keep you here — at least to see and talk to you before you left.
But if you are really going to America you couldn't have chosen a better moment, both as regards finding a source of livelihood there and being of service to our party.
For it is almost as good as certain that you will obtain a position as editor with the New-Yorker Staatszeitung. It was previously offered to Lupus. Enclosed is a letter from him to Reichhelm, the co-proprietor of the paper. So much for the industrial aspect. But you have no time to lose.
On the other hand, Mr Heinzen, and with him the worthy Ruge, sounds weekly trumpet blasts against the communists, especially myself, Engels, etc., in the New York Schnellpost. Our local democratic riff-raff have a pit over there where they deposit their guano which forces neither seed nor fruit but rather a luxuriant growth of weeds. Finally Heinzen is harrying the Staatszeitung, which is no match even for this opponent.
Whatever the attitude of the Staatszeitung to American politics, you will have la voix libre[1] as regards European politics. Heinzen goes around posing as a great writer. The American press will be delighted by the arrival of someone who will rap this loud-mouthed poltroon over the knuckles.
If you become editor, we shall give your department every support. Unfortunately that blackguard and jackass, Seiler, is the Staatszeitung's London correspondent. In addition, the member of the European government[2] , Ruge, needs to have his mouth stopped.
Your article against Christe[3] is good. I have no alterations to suggest but would simply remark, by way of parenthesis, that the workers in the manufacturing areas do indeed marry in order to coin money out of the children. It's a sad fact but a true one.
As you can imagine, my circumstances are very dismal. My wife will go under if things continue like this much longer. The constant worries, the slightest everyday struggle wears her out; and on top of that, there are the infamies of my opponents who have never yet so much as attempted to attack me as to the substance, who seek to avenge their impotence by casting suspicions on my civil character and by disseminating the most unspeakable infamies about me. Willich, Schapper, Ruge and countless other democratic rabble make this their business. No sooner does someone arrive from the Continent than he is collared and worked upon so that he in turn takes up the self-same handiwork.
A few days ago the 'famous' referendary Schramm, on meeting an acquaintance in the street, at once whispered in his ear: "Whatever the outcome of the revolution, everyone is agreed that Marx is perdu"[4] . "Rodbertus, who has the best prospects, will have him shot outright — and all the rest likewise." I, of course, would make a joke of the whole dirty business; not for one moment do I allow it to interfere with my work but, as you will understand, my wife, who is poorly and caught up from morning till night in the most disagreeable of domestic quandaries, and whose nervous system is impaired, is not revived by the exhalations from the pestiferous democratic cloaca daily administered to her by stupid tell-tales. The tactlessness of some individuals in this respect can often be colossal.
By the by, there's no question of parties here. The great men, despite their professed disparity of views, do nothing except mutually underwrite one another's importance. Never has revolution brought a hollower crew to the surface.
When you reach New York, go and see A. Dana of the New-York Tribune and give him my and Freiligrath's regards. He may be of use to you. As soon as you arrive, write to me at once, but still care of Engels, who is better able to afford the postage than any of us. At any rate I expect a line or two from you before you actually put to sea. When your wife[5] arrives, convey to her the warm regards of myself and my wife.
If you are able to remain in New York, you will not be very far from Europe and, with the wholesale suppression of newspapers in Germany, it is only over there that we can conduct the struggle in the press.
Your
K. Marx
P.S. I have just learnt that the great men, Ruge and clique, Kinkel and clique, Schapper, Willich and clique, and these great ones' go-betweens, Fickler, Goegg and clique, have combined to form a spongey mass.[6] Remember the story of the peasant who sold a dozen bushels a time at below cost price. But, he said, it's the volume that does it; and that's what these weaklings also say: it's the volume that will do it. The cement, by the by, which has kneaded this dough together, is hatred of the "Neue Rheinische Zeitung clique", and in particular of myself. When there's a dozen of them together, they're proper fellows.
If you don't become master of the Arbeiterzeitung in New York — which would undoubtedly be best — if, that is, you are compelled to negotiate with the Staatszeitung, beware of your friend Kapp, who's always in and out of the place. We have proof to hand that this individual — for what reason I know not — is one of the main intriguers against us.
Adieu mon cher.