| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 28 April 1871 |
ENGELS TO LUDWIG KUGELMANN
IN HANOVER
London, 28 April 1871
122 Regent's Park Road, N.W.
Dear Kugelmann,
You can see from the above address that I have settled in London and have in fact been here since last autumn when I finally wound up my various business obligations in Manchester. I am happy with the move in every respect. My new house is not quite ten minutes away from Marx, which is very close indeed according to ideas here. Moreover, I have the park directly opposite the door and splendid fresh air.
As far as Marx' condition is concerned, you saw the situation in altogether too gloomy a light. D'abord[1] your bold diagnosis which blamed his cough on catarrh on the lungs. Marx and I have consulted a very able young doctor[2] (a Scot), who knows his auscultation and percussion as well as most in Germany, and who says the same as I have been saying all along: that the source of the cough is solely in the larynx and that the lungs are completely unaffected. He says that it is, however, not easy to get rid of a cough that has been so greatly neglected and which has therefore become so firmly entrenched, and he prophesies a recurrence in
the autumn, even if the summer drives it away. Given proper treatment, however, he says there is no cause for concern. The only trouble with the cough to begin with was that it prevented Marx from sleeping and so brought about a general deterioration in his health. That has now been attended to more or less. The doctor has mainly been treating his liver and there too he has had some success. You will understand, however, that there can be no speedy cure for a chronic illness that, to my knowledge, has been more or less permanent for the last 26 years. Incidentally, Marx's way of life is by no means as crazy as people imagine. While the excitement that started with the war still persists, he has given up work on heavy theoretical matters and is living fairly rationally; he even frequently takes his 1 V2 hour to 2 hour walks without my forcing him to and he does not drink a drop of beer for weeks on end as soon as he notices that it doesn't agree with him. That he has a capricious appetite which alternates between lack of appetite and ravenous hunger is not surprising in his condition. You need have no fear that his skin is not in order—apart from the considerable areas where the CUTIS has been completely destroyed by the carbuncles. A walk via Highgate to Hampstead and back to Maitland Park is about 1 V2 German miles and involves going up and down several steep hills. And up on top there is more ozone than in the whole of Hanover. He goes for this walk 3-4 times per week, at least in part. Naturally, I often have to make him do it, but he knows that it is good for him. And in general, like me, he lives circa 150 feet above the Thames in an open district, with hardly a hint of urban atmosphere, among large gardens and few houses, and if matters are not worse with him, it can be put down to this healthy environment.
I have just been called to the table and, since the crazy postal system closes down in half-an-hour, I shall have to break off. At any rate I have given you enough material to counteract your somewhat exaggerated fears. The fact is that I cannot bear to be without a lot of exercise out of doors and, whether he wants to or not, Marx mostly has to come along with me, and that is after all the best medicine for him.
With warm regards,
Yours,
F. E.