Jenny Marx to Karl Marx Correspondence 



Letter from Jenny Von Westphalen to Karl 1839 

Letter from Jenny Von Westphalen to Karl August 10, 1841 

Letter from Jenny Von Westphalen to Karl March, 1843 

Experiences in Trier, especially life with their infant daughter July 21, 1844 

Experiences in Trier, especially life with their infant daughter August 10, 1844 

Experiences in Trier, especially life with their infant daughter August, 1844 





Letter from Jenny Von Westphalen to Karl Marx


in Berlin




Written: Trier, [1839-40] 
Source: Marx Engels Collected Works Vol 1, pg 695-698. 
Publisher: International Publishers (1975) 
First Published: Marx/Engels, Gesamtausgabe, Abt. 1, Hb. 2, 1929
Translated: Clemens Dutt 



My dear and only beloved, 
Sweetheart, are you no longer angry with me, and also not worried about me? I 
was so very upset when I last wrote, and in such moments I see everything still 
much blacker and more terrible than it actually is. Forgive me, one and only 
beloved, for causing you such anxiety, but I was shattered by your doubt of my 
love and faithfulness. Tell me, Karl, how could you do that, how could you set 
it down so dryly in writing to me, express a suspicion merely because I was 
silent somewhat longer than usual, kept longer to myself the sorrow I felt over 
your letter, over Edgar, indeed over so much that filled my soul with 
unspeakable misery. I did it only to spare you, and to save myself from becoming 
upset, a consideration which I owe indeed to you and to my family. 
Oh, Karl, how little you know me, how little you appreciate my position, and how 
little you feel where my grief lies, where my heart bleeds. A girl's love is 
different from that of a man, it cannot but be different. A girl, of course, 
cannot give a man anything but love and herself and her person, just as she is, 
quite undivided and for ever. In ordinary circumstances, too, the girl must find 
her complete satisfaction in the man's love, she must forget everything in love. 
But, Karl, think of my position, you have no regard for me, you do not trust me. 
And that I am not capable of retaining your present romantic youthful love, I 
have known from the beginning, and deeply felt, long before it was explained to 
me so coldly and wisely and reasonably. Oh, Karl, what makes me miserable is 
that what would fill any other girl with inexpressible delight -- your 
beautiful, touching, passionate love, the indescribably beautiful things you say 
about it, the inspiring creations of your imagination -- all this only causes me 
anxiety and often reduces me to despair. The more I were to surrender myself to 
happiness, the more frightful would my fate be if your ardent love were to cease 
and you became cold and withdrawn. 
You see, Karl, concern over the permanence of your love robs me of all 
enjoyment. I cannot so fully rejoice at your love, because I no longer believe 
myself assured of it; nothing more terrible could happen to me than that. You 
see, Karl, that is why I am not so wholly thankful for, so wholly enchanted by 
your love, as it really deserves. That is why I often remind you of external 
matters, of life and reality, instead of clinging wholly, as you can do so well, 
to the world of love, to absorption in it and to a higher, dearer, spiritual 
unity with you, and in it forgetting everything else, finding solace and 
happiness in that alone. Karl, if you could only sense my misery you would be 
milder towards me and not see hideous prose and mediocrity everywhere, not 
perceive everywhere want of true love and depth of feeling. 
Oh, Karl, if only I could rest safe in your love, my head would not burn so, my 
heart would not hurt and bleed so. If only I could rest safe for ever in your 
heart, Karl, God knows my soul would not think of life and cold prose. But, my 
angel, you have no regard for me, you do not trust me, and your love, for which 
I would sacrifice everything, everything, I cannot keep fresh and young. In that 
thought lies death; once you apprehend it in my soul, you will have greater 
consideration for me when I long for consolation that lies outside your love. I 
feel so completely how right you are in everything, but think also of my 
situation, my inclination to sad thoughts, just think properly over all that as 
it is, and you will no longer be so hard towards me. If only you could be a girl 
for a little while and, moreover, such a peculiar one as I am. 
So, sweetheart, since your last letter I have tortured myself with the fear that 
for my sake you could become embroiled in a quarrel and then in a duel. Day and 
night I saw you wounded, bleeding and ill, and, Karl, to tell you the whole 
truth, I was not altogether unhappy in this thought: for I vividly imagined that 
you had lost your right hand, and, Karl, I was in a state of rapture, of bliss, 
because of that. You see, sweetheart, I thought that in that case I could really 
become quite indispensable to you, you would then always keep me with you and 
love me. I also thought that then I could write down all your dear, heavenly 
ideas and be really useful to you. All this I imagined so naturally and vividly 
that in my thoughts I continually heard your dear voice, your dear words poured 
down on me and I listened to every one of them and carefully preserved them for 
other people. You see, I am always picturing such things to myself, but then I 
am happy, for then I am with you, yours, wholly yours. If I could only believe 
that to be possible, I would be quite satisfied. Dear and only beloved, write to 
me soon and tell me that you are well and that you love me always. But, dear 
Karl, I must once more talk to you a little seriously. Tell me, how could you 
doubt my faithfulness to you? Oh, Karl, to let you be eclipsed by someone else, 
not as if I failed to recognise the excellent qualities in other people and 
regarded you as unsurpassable, but, Karl, I love you indeed so inexpressibly, 
how could I find anything even at all worthy of love in someone else? Oh, dear 
Karl, I have never, never been wanting in any way towards you, yet all the same 
you do not trust me. But it is curious that precisely someone was mentioned to 
you who has hardly ever been seen in Trier, who cannot be known at all, whereas 
I have been often and much seen engaged in lively and cheerful conversation in 
society with all kinds of men. I can often be quite cheerful and teasing, I can 
often joke and carry on a lively conversation with absolute strangers, things 
that I cannot do with you. You see, Karl, I could chat and converse with anyone, 
but as soon as you merely look at me, I cannot say a word for nervousness, the 
blood stops flowing in my veins and my soul trembles. 
Often when I thus suddenly think of you I am dumbstricken and overpowered with 
emotion so that not for anything in the world could I utter a word. Oh, I don't 
know how it happens, but I get such a queer feeling when I think of you, and I 
don't think of you on isolated and special occasions; no, my whole life and 
being are but one thought of you. Often things occur to me that you have said to 
me or asked me about, and then I am carried away by indescribably marvellous 
sensations. And, Karl, when you kissed me, and pressed me to you and held me 
fast, and I could no longer breathe for fear and trembling, and you looked at me 
so peculiarly, so softly, oh, sweetheart, you do not know the way you have often 
looked at me. If you only knew, dear Karl, what a peculiar feeling I have, I 
really cannot describe it to you I sometimes think to myself, too, how nice it 
will he when at last I am with you always and you call me your little wife. 
Surely, sweetheart, then I shall be able to tell you all that I think, then one 
would no longer feel so horribly shy as at present. Dear Karl, it is so lovely 
to have such a sweetheart. If you only knew what it is like, you would not 
believe that I could ever love anyone else. You, dear sweetheart, certainly do 
not remember all the many things you have said to me, when I come to think of 
it. Once you said something so nice to me that one can only say when one is 
totally in love and thinks one's beloved completely at one with oneself. You 
have often said something so lovely, dear Karl, do you remember? If I had to 
tell you exactly everything I have been thinking -- and, my dear rogue, you 
certainly think I have told you everything already, but you are very much 
mistaken -- when I am no longer your sweetheart, I shall tell you also what one 
only says when one belongs wholly to one's beloved. Surely, dear Karl, you will 
then also tell me everything and will again look at me so lovingly. That was the 
most beautiful thing in the world for me. Oh, my darling, how you looked at me 
the first time like that and then quickly looked away, and then looked at me 
again, and I did the same, until at last we looked at each other for quite a 
long time and very deeply, and could no longer look away. Dearest one, do not be 
angry with me any more and write to me also a little tenderly, I am so happy 
then. And do not be so much concerned about my health. I often imagine it to be 
worse than it is. I really do feel better now than for a long time past. I have 
also stopped taking medicine and my appetite, too, is again very good. I walk a 
lot in Wettendorfs garden and am quite industrious the whole day long. But, 
unfortunately, I can't read anything. If I only knew of a book which I could 
understand properly and which could divert me a little. I often take an hour to 
read one page and still do not understand anything. To be sure, sweetheart, I 
can catch up again even if I get a little behind at present, you will help me to 
go forward again, and I am quick in grasping things too. Perhaps you know of 
some book, but it must be quite a special kind, a bit learned so that I do not 
understand everything, but still manage to understand something as if through a 
fog, a bit such as not everyone likes to read; and also no fairy-tales, and no 
poetry, I can't bear it. I think it would do me a lot of good if I exercised my 
mind a bit. Working with one's hands leaves too much scope to the mind. Dear 
Karl, only keep well for my sake. The funny little dear is already living 
somewhere else. I am very glad at the change in your.... 



Letter from Jenny Von Westphalen to Karl


in Bonn




Written: [Trier, August 10, 1841] 
Source: Marx Engels Collected Works Vol 1, pg 707-709. 
Publisher: International Publishers (1975) 
First Published: Marx/Engels, Gesamtausgabe, Abt. 1, Hb. 2, 1929



My little wild boar, 
How glad I am that you are happy, and that my letter made you cheerful, and that 
you are longing for me, and that you are living in wallpapered rooms, and that 
you drank champagne in Cologne, and that there are Hegel clubs there, and that 
you have been dreaming, and that, in short, you are mine, my own sweetheart, my 
dear wild boar. But for all that there is one thing I miss: you could have 
praised me a little for my Greek, and you could have devoted a little laudatory 
article to my erudition. But that is just like you, you Hegeling gentlemen, you 
don't recognise anything, be it the height of excellence, if it is not exactly 
according to your view, and so I must be modest and rest on my own laurels. Yes, 
sweetheart, I have still to rest, alas, and indeed on a feather bed and pillows, 
and even this little letter is being sent out into the world from my little bed. 

On Sunday I ventured on a bold excursion into the front rooms -- but it proved 
bad for me and now I have to do penance again for it. Schleicher told me just 
now that he has had a letter from a young revolutionary, but that the latter is 
greatly mistaken in his judgment of his countrymen. He does not think he can 
procure either shares or anything else. Ah, dear, dear sweetheart, now you get 
yourself involved in politics too. That is indeed the most risky thing of all. 
Dear little Karl, just remember always that here at home you have a sweetheart 
who is hoping and suffering and is wholly dependent on your fate. Dear, dear 
sweetheart, how I wish I could only see you again. 
Unfortunately, I cannot and may not fix the day as yet. Before I feel quite well 
again, I shall not get permission to travel. But I am staying put this week. 
Otherwise our dear synopticist may finally depart and I should not have seen the 
worthy man. This morning quite early I studied in the Augsburg newspaper three 
Hegelian articles and the announcement of Bruno's book! 
Properly speaking, dear sweetheart, I ought now to say vale faveque to you, for 
you only asked me for a couple of lines and the page is already filled almost to 
the end. But today I do not want to keep so strictly to the letter of the law 
and I intend to stretch the lines asked for to as many pages. And it is true, is 
it not, sweetheart, that you will not be angry with your little Jenny on that 
account, and as for the content itself, you should bear firmly in mind that only 
a knave gives more than he has. Today my buzzing, whirring little head is quite 
pitiably empty and it has hardly anything in it but wheels and clappers and 
mills. The thoughts have all gone, but on the other hand, my little heart is so 
full, so overflowing with love and yearning and ardent longing for you, my 
infinitely loved one. 
In the meantime have you not received a letter written in pencil sent through 
Vauban? Perhaps, the intermediary is no longer any good, and in future I must 
address the letters directly to my lord and master. 
Commodore Napier has just passed by in his white cloak. One's poor senses fail 
one at the sight. It strikes me as just like the wolves' ravine in the 
Freischuz, when suddenly the wild army and all the curious fantastic forms pass 
through it. Only on the miserable little stage of our theatre one always saw the 
wires to which the eagles and owls and crocodiles were fastened -- in this case 
the mechanism is merely of a somewhat different kind. 
Tomorrow, for the first time, Father will be allowed out of his constrained 
position and seated on a chair. He is rather discouraged by the very slow 
progress of his recovery, but he vigorously issues his orders without pause, and 
it will not be long before he is awarded the grand cross of the order of 
commanders. 
If I were not lying here so miserably, I would soon be packing my bag. 
Everything is ready. Frocks and collars and bonnets are in beautiful order and 
only the wearer is not in the right condition. Oh, dearest one, how I keep 
thinking of you and your love during my sleepless nights, how often have I 
prayed for you, blessed you and implored blessings for you, and how sweetly I 
have then often dreamed of all the bliss that has been and will be. -- This 
evening Haizinger is acting in Bonn. Will you go there? I have seen her as Donna 
Diana. 
Dearest Karl, I should like to say a lot more to you, all that remains to be 
said -- but Mother will not tolerate it any longer -- she will take away my pen 
and I shall not be able even to express my most ardent, loving greetings. Just a 
kiss on each finger and then away into the distance. Fly away, fly to my Karl, 
and press as warmly on his lips as you were warm and tender when starting out 
towards them; and then cease to be dumb messengers of love and whisper to him 
all the tiny, sweet, secret expressions of love that love gives you -- tell him 
everything -- but, no, leave something over for your mistress. 
Farewell, one and only beloved. I cannot write any more, or my head will be all 
in a whirl [...] you know, and quadrupedante putrem sonitu etc., etc. -- Adieu, 
you dear little man of the railways. Adieu, my dear little man. -- It is 
certain, isn't it, that I can marry you? 
Adieu, adieu, my sweetheart. 




Letter from Jenny Von Westphalen to Karl


in Cologne




Written: [Kreuznach, March 1843] 
Source: Marx Engels Collected Works Vol 1, pg 728-730. 
Publisher: International Publishers (1975) 
First Published: Marx/Engels, Gesamtausgabe, Abt. 1, Hb. 2, 1929
Translated: Clemens Dutt 



Although at the last conference of the two great powers nothing was stipulated 
on a certain point, nor any treaty concluded on the obligation of initiating a 
correspondence, and consequently no external means of compulsion exist, 
nevertheless the little scribe with the pretty curls feels inwardly compelled to 
open the ball, and indeed with feelings of the deepest, sincerest love and 
gratitude towards you, my dear, good and only sweetheart. I think you had never 
been more lovable and sweet and charming, and yet every time after you had gone 
I was in a state of delight and would always have liked to have you back again 
to tell you once more how much, how wholly, I love you. But still, the last 
occasion was your victorious departure; I do not know at all how dear you were 
to me in the depths of my heart when I no longer saw you in the flesh and only 
the true image of you in all angelic mildness and goodness, sublimity of love 
and brilliance of mind was so vividly present to my mind. If you were here now, 
my dearest Karl, what a great capacity for happiness you would find in your 
brave little woman. And should you come out with ever so bad a leaning, and ever 
such wicked intentions, I would not resort to any reactionary measures. I would 
patiently bow my head and surrender it to the wicked knave. "What", how? -- 
Light, what, how light. Do you still remember our twilight conversations, our 
guessing games, our hours of slumber? Heart's beloved, how good, how loving, how 
considerate, how joyful you were! 
How brilliant, how triumphant. I see you before me, how my heart longs for your 
constant presence, how it quivers for you with delight and enchantment, how 
anxiously it follows you on all the paths you take. To Pabschritier, to Merten 
in Gold, to Papa Ruge, to Pansa, everywhere I accompany you, I precede you and I 
follow you. If only I could level and make smooth all your paths, and sweep away 
everything that might be an obstacle to you. But then it does not fall to our 
lot that we also should be allowed to interfere actively in the workings of 
fate. We have been condemned to passivity by the fall of man, by Madame Eve's 
sin; our lot lies in waiting, hoping, enduring, suffering. At the most we are 
entrusted with knitting stockings, with needles, keys, and everything beyond 
that is evil; only when it is a question of deciding where the Deutsche 
Jahrbucher is to be printed does a feminine veto intervene and invisibly play 
something of a small main role. This evening I had a tiny little idea about 
Strasbourg. Would not a return to the homeland be forbidden you if you were to 
betray Germany to France in this way, and would it not be possible also that the 
liberal sovereign power would tell you definitely: "Emigrate then, or rather 
stay away if you do not like it in my states." But all that, as I have said, is 
only an idea, and our old friend Ruge will certainly know what has to be done, 
especially when a private little chick lurks like this in the background, and 
comes out with a separate petition. Let the matter rest, therefore, in Father 
Abraham's bosom. 
This morning, when I was putting things in order, returning the draughtsmen to 
their proper place, collecting the cigar butts, sweeping up the ash, and trying 
to destroy the "Althauschen" [?], I came across the enclosed page. You have 
dismembered our friend Ludwig and left a crucial page here. If you are already 
past it in your reading, there is no hurry; but for the worthy bookbinder, in 
case it is to be bound, it is urgently needed. The whole work would be spoilt. 
You have certainly scattered some more pages. It would be a nuisance and a pity. 
Do look after the loose pages. 
Now I must tell you about the distress and misfortune I had immediately after 
you went away. I saw at once that you had not paid any attention to your dear 
nose and left it at the mercy of wind and weather and air, and all the 
vicissitudes of fate, without taking a helpful handkerchief with you. That, in 
the first place, gave me grave concern. In the second place, the barber dropped 
in. I thought of putting it to great advantage and with rare amiability I asked 
him how much the Herr Doctor owed him. The answer was 7 1/2, silver groschen. I 
quickly did the sum in my head and 21/2 groschen were saved. I had no small 
change and I therefore gave him 8 silver groschen in good faith that he would 
give me change. But what did the scoundrel do? He thanked me, pocketed the whole 
sum, my six pfennigs were gone and I could whistle for them. I was still on the 
point of reproving him, but either he did not understand my glance of distress 
or Mother" tried to soothe me -- in short, the six pfennigs were gone as all 
good things go. That was a disappointment! 
Now I come to a matter of dress. I went out this morning and I saw many new 
pieces of lace at Wolf's shop. If you cannot get them cheap or get someone else 
to choose them, then I ask you, sweetheart, to leave the matter in my hands. In 
general, sweetheart, I would really prefer at present that you did not buy 
anything and saved your money for the journey. You see, sweetheart, I shall then 
be with you and we shall be buying together, and if someone cheats us, then at 
least it will happen in company. So, sweetheart, don't buy anything now. That 
applies also to the wreath of flowers. I am afraid you would have to pay too 
much, and to look for it together would indeed be very nice. If you won't give 
up the flowers, let them be rose-coloured. That goes best with my green dress. 
But I would prefer you to drop the whole business. Surely, sweetheart, that 
would be better. You can do that only when you are my dear lawful, church-wed 
husband. And one thing more: before I forget. Look for my last letter. I should 
be annoyed if it got into anyone else's hands. Its tendency is not exactly 
well-meaning, and its intentions are unfathomably malevolent. Were you barked at 
as a deserter when you jumped in? Or did they temper justice with mercy? Has 
Oppenheim come back and is Claessen still in a bit of a rage? I shall send 
Laffarge on as soon as I can. Have you already delivered the letter of bad news 
to E[...]? Are the passport people willing? Dearest sweetheart, those are 
incidental questions, now I come to the heart of the matter. Did you behave well 
on the steamer, or was there again a Madame Hermann on board? You bad boy. I am 
going to drive it out of you. Always on the steamboats. I shall have an 
interdiction imposed immediately on wanderings of this kind in the contrat 
social, in our marriage papers, and such enormities will be severely punished. I 
shall have all the cases specified and punishment imposed for them, and I shall 
make a second marriage law similar to the penal code. I shall show you alright. 
Yesterday evening I was dead tired again, but all the same I ate an egg. Food 
shares, therefore, are not doing so badly and are going up like the Dusseldorf 
shares. When you come, it is to be hoped they will be at par, and the state 
guarantees the interest. However, adieu now. Parting is painful. It pains the 
heart. Good-bye, my one and only beloved, black sweet, little hubby. "What", 
how! Ah! you knavish face. Talatta, talatta, good-bye, write soon, talatta, 
talatta. 




Letter from Jenny Marx to Karl Marx


in Paris




Written: [Trier,about June 21, 1844] 
Source: Marx Engels Collected Works Vol 1, pg 575-579. 
Publisher: International Publishers (1975) 
First Published: Marx/Engels, Werke, Erganzungsband, Teil 1, Berlin, 1968
Translated: Clemens Dutt 



You see, dear heart, that I don't deal with you according to the law and demand 
an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a letter for a letter; I am generous 
and magnanimous, but I hope that my twofold appearance before you will soon 
yield me golden fruit, a few lines in return, for which my heart is yearning, a 
few words to tell me that you are well and are longing for me a little. I should 
so like to know that you miss me and to hear you say you want me. But now 
quickly, before the holding of the daily court begins again, a bulletin about 
our little one, for after all she is now the chief person in our alliance and, 
being at once yours and mine, is the most intimate bond of our love. The poor 
little doll was quite miserable and ill after the journey, and turned out to be 
suffering not only from constipation but downright overfeeding. We had to call 
in the fat pig, and his decision was that it was essential to have a wet-nurse 
since with artificial feeding she would not easily recover. You can imagine my 
anxiety. But that is all over now, the dear little Clever Eyes is being fed 
magnificently by a healthy young wet-nurse, a girl from Barbeln, the daughter of 
the boatman with whom dear Papa so often sailed. In better times, Mother once 
provided a complete outfit of clothes for this girl, when she was still a child, 
and what a coincidence -- this poor child, to whom Papa used to give a kreutzer 
every day, is now giving life and health to our baby. It was not easy to save 
her life, but she is now almost out of any danger. In spite of all her 
sufferings, she looks remarkably pretty and is as flower-white, delicate and 
transparent as a little princess. In Paris we would never have got her through 
the illness, so this trip has already been well worth while. Besides, I am now 
again with my good, poor mother, who only with the greatest struggle can put up 
with our being separated.
She has had a very bad time at the Wettendorfs'. They are rather coarse people. 
Ah, if I had only known how things were with poor Mother on many occasions 
during the winter! But I often wept and was miserable when thinking of her, and 
you were always so considerate and patient. Another good thing about this 
wet-nurse is that she is also very useful as a maid, is willing to accompany 
[us] and, as it happens, served three years in Metz and therefore also speaks 
French. Hence my return journey is fully assured. What a stroke of luck it is, 
is it not! Only at present poor Mother has to bear too many expenses and is 
after all very poor. Edgar robs her of all she has and then writes one 
nonsensical letter after another, rejoices over the approaching revolutions and 
the overthrow of all existing conditions, instead of beginning by 
revolutionising his own conditions, which then always evokes unpleasant 
discussions and indirect attacks on the mad revolutionary youth. In general, 
nowhere does a longing for a transformation of the existing state of things 
arise more strongly than when one sees the surface looking so drearily flat and 
even, and yet knows what a commotion and ferment is taking place in the depths 
of mankind.
But let us leave the revolution and come back to our wet-nurse. I shall pay the 
monthly sum of four talers from the remainder of the journey money, from which I 
will pay also for the medicine and doctor. True, Mother does not want me to do 
so, but for food alone she has to bear more than she can. In spite of poverty, 
she keeps everything about her in decent condition. People in Trier are really 
behaving excellently towards her and that placates me a little. Moreover, I do 
not need to visit anyone, for they all come to me and I hold court from morning 
to night. I cannot give you the names of all of them. Today I also disposed of 
the patriot Lehmann, who is very well disposed by the way, and is only afraid 
that your thorough scientific studies might suffer over there. Incidentally, I 
behave towards everyone in a lordly fashion and my external appearance fully 
justifies this. For once I am more elegant than any of them and never in my life 
have I looked better and more blooming than I do now. Everyone is unanimous 
about that. And people constantly repeat Herwegh's compliment asking me "when my 
confirmation has taken place". I think to myself, too, what would be the good of 
behaving humbly; it does not help anyone out of a difficulty, and people are so 
happy if they can express their regret. Despite the fact that my whole being 
expresses satisfaction and affluence, everyone still hopes that you will decide 
after all to obtain a permanent post. 0, you asses, as if all of you were 
standing on firm ground. I know that we are not exactly standing on rock, but 
where is there any firm foundation now? Can one not see everywhere signs of 
earthquake and the undermining of the foundations on which society has erected 
its temples and shops? I think that time, the old mole, will soon stop burrowing 
underground -- indeed in Breslau there have been thunderstorms again. If we can 
only hold out for a time, until our little one has grown big. As to that, you'll 
put my mind at ease, won't you, my dear sweet angel, my one and only heart's 
beloved? How my heart went out to you on June 19! How strongly and intimately it 
beat out of love for you.
But to return to the account of events. It was not until our wedding-day that 
our dear little baby was well again and sucked healthily and lustily. Then I set 
out on my difficult journey -- you know where to. I wore my nice Paris frock and 
my face glowed with anxiety and excitement. When I rang, my heart was beating 
almost audibly. Everything went through my mind. The door opened and Jettchen 
appeared. She embraced and kissed me and led me into the drawing-room where your 
mother and Sophie were sitting. Both immediately embraced me, your mother called 
me "thou", and Sophie sat me on the sofa beside her. She has been terribly 
ravaged by illness, looks like CxC, and is hardly likely to get well again. And 
yet Jettchen is in an almost worse state. Only your mother looks well and 
flourishing, and is cheerfulness itself, almost gay and frolicsome. Alas, this 
gaiety seems somehow sinister. All the girls were equally affectionate, 
especially little Caroline. Next morning your mother came already at 9 o'clock 
to see the baby. In the afternoon Sophie came, and this morning little Caroline 
also paid a visit to our little angel. Can you imagine such a change? I am very 
glad about it and Mother as well, but how has it come about so suddenly? What a 
difference success makes, or in our case rather the appearance of success, which 
by the subtlest tactics I know how to maintain.
That's strange news, isn't it? Just think, how the time runs and even the 
fattest pigs as well; Schleicher, too, is no longer a politician, and a 
Socialist, that is to say, like Schmiriaks from the organism of labour, etc. It 
is enough to make one sick, as the Frankenthaler says. He partly considers that 
your clique is mad, but he thinks it is high time you attacked Bauer. Ah, Karl, 
what you are going to do, do it soon. And also do give me soon some sign of your 
life. I am being treated with great tenderness by the most gentle loving mother, 
my little one is being properly looked after and cared for, the whole of Trier 
gapes, stares, admires, and pays court, and yet my heart and soul are turned 
towards you. Ah, if only I could see you now and again, and ask you: what is 
that for? Or sing for you: "Do you know also when it will be the day after 
tomorrow?" Dear heart of mine, how I should like to kiss you, for such cold 
collations are no good, isn't that true, my dearest one? However, you should 
read the Trier'sche Zietung, it is quite good now. How do things look with you? 
It is now already eight days I have been away from you. Even here, with 
better-quality milk, it would not have been possible to get our baby over her 
illness without a wet-nurse. Her whole stomach was upset. Today Schleicher has 
assured me that she is now saved. 0, if only poor Mother did not have so many 
worries, and particularly because of Edgar, who makes use of all the great signs 
of the times, and all the sufferings of society, in order to cover up and 
whitewash his own worthlessness. Now the vacation is coming again and then once 
again nothing will come of the examination. All his essays are ready. It is 
unpardonable. Mother must deny herself everything, while he has a good time in 
Cologne going to all the operas, as he himself writes. He speaks with the utmost 
tenderness of his little sister, his little Jenny, but I find it impossible to 
be tender towards the scatterbrain.
Dearest heart, I am often greatly worried about our future, both that near at 
hand and later on, and I think I am going to be punished for my exuberance and 
cockiness here. If you can, do set my mind at rest about this. There is too much 
talk on all sides about a steady income. I reply then merely by means of my rosy 
cheeks, my clear skin, my velvet cloak, feather hat and smart coiffure. That has 
the best and deepest effect, and if as a result I become depressed, nobody sees 
it. Our baby has such a beautiful white colour that everyone wonders at it, and 
she is so fine and delicate. Schleicher is very solicitous and very nice to the 
child. Today he did not want to go away at all, then there came God's Wrath, and 
then Reverchon, then Lehmann, and then Poppey, and so it goes on all the time. 
Yesterday the Tree-frog too, was here with his parchment better half. I did not 
see them. The members of your family have just paid a call in passing, including 
Sophie in full fig. But how ill she looks!!! -- Give greetings from me to 
Siebenkas and the Heines, if you see them. I shall have news of you soon, isn't 
that so? And are you bravely singing the postillion of Longjumeau?
Only don't write with too much rancour and irritation. You know how much more 
effect your other articles have had. Write either in a matter-of-fact and subtle 
way or humorously and lightly. Please, dear heart of mine, let your pen run over 
the paper, even if it should on occasion stumble and fall, and the sentence with 
it. Your thoughts all the same stand erect like the grenadiers of the old guard, 
so honourably firm and courageous, and they could say like the old guard: elle 
meurt mais elle ne se rend pas. What does it matter if occasionally the uniform 
hangs a bit loosely and is not so tightly buttoned up? What is so very nice 
about the French soldiers is their free and easy appearance. When you think of 
our stilted Prussians, doesn't it make you shudder? -- Just slacken the 
strappings and remove the cravat and helmet -- let the participles take their 
course and set down the words just as they come of themselves. Such an army does 
not have to march in such strict order. And your troops are taking the field, 
are they not? Good luck to the general, my dusky master! Good-bye, dearest 
heart, my beloved, my entire life. For the present I am in my little Germany, 
with everything around me, including my little one and my mother, and yet my 
heart is sad because you are absent; it yearns for you, and it hopes for you and 
your black messengers.
Good-bye,
Your Schipp and Schribb



Letter from Jenny Marx to Karl Marx


in Paris




Written: [Trier, between August 4 and 10, 1844] 
Source: Marx Engels Collected Works Vol 1, pg 580. 
Publisher: International Publishers (1975) 
First Published: Volwrts, No. 64, August 10, 1844
Translated: Clemens Dutt 



My dearest, 
I received your letter at the very moment when all the bells were ringing, the 
guns firing, and the pious crowd flocking into the temples to convey their 
hallelujahs to the heavenly Lord for having so miraculously saved their earthly 
Lord. You can imagine with what peculiar feeling I read Heine's poems during the 
celebration and also chimed in with my hosannas. Did not your Prussian heart 
also quiver with horror at the news of that crime, that shocking, unthinkable 
crime? Alas, for the lost virginity, the lost honour! Such are the Prussian 
catchwords. When I heard the little green grasshopper, cavalry captain X., 
declaiming about the lost virginity, I could only believe that he meant the holy 
immaculate virginity of Mother Mary, for that after all is the only one 
officially confirmed. But as for the virginity of the Prussian state! No, I lost 
any belief in that long ago. As regards the terrible event, one consolation 
remains for the pure Prussian people, viz., that the motive for the deed was not 
any political fanaticism, but a purely personal desire for revenge. They console 
themselves with that--lucky for them--but it is precisely a new proof that a 
political revolution is impossible in Germany, whereas all the seeds of a social 
revolution are present. While there has never been a political fanatic there who 
dared to go to the extreme, the first one to risk an attempt at assassination 
was driven to it by want, dire want. For three days the man had been begging in 
vain in Berlin in constant danger of death from starvation--hence it was a 
social attempt at assassination! If something does break out, it will start from 
this direction--that is the most sensitive spot, and in this respect a German 
heart also is vulnerable!



Letter from Jenny Marx to Karl Marx


in Paris




Written: [Trier, between August 11 and 18, 1844] 
Source: Marx Engels Collected Works Vol 1, pg 581-584. 
Publisher: International Publishers (1975) 
First Published: First published in Marx/Engels, Werke, Ergnzungsband, Teil 1, 
Berlin, 1968
Translated: Clemens Dutt 


My dearest, unique Karl, 
You cannot believe, darling of my heart, how very happy you make me by your 
letters, and how your last pastoral letter, you high priest and bishop of my 
heart, has once again restored soothing calm and peace to your poor lamb. It is 
certainly wrong and silly to torture oneself with all sorts of cares and 
glimpses of dark distant perspectives. I am very well aware of that myself in 
those self-tormenting moments -- but although the spirit is willing, the flesh 
is weak, and so it is always only with your help that I am able to exorcise 
those demons. Your latest news truly brought me such real and tangible solace 
that it would be quite wrong to start brooding again. I expect now that it is 
going to happen as in a game of cards, and I hope that some external 
circumstance will determine the time of my return home. Perhaps Edgar's arrival 
or some similar [external] occasion. I touch on this painful [point] very 
unwillingly, and it is only in Edgar's presence that I shall return to this 
matter for a decision. In any case I shall be coming before the winter, how 
could I indeed resist such dear, heart-warming friendliness as that which shines 
on me from your lines. And then in the background are dark feelings of anxiety 
and fear, the real menace of unfaithfulness, the seductions and attractions of a 
capital city -- all those are powers and forces whose effect on me is more 
powerful than anything else. How I am looking forward after such a long time to 
rest comfortably and happily once more close to your heart, in your arms. What a 
lot I shall have to chatter with you about, and what trouble you will have to 
bring me again  la hauteur des principes for in partitioned Germany it is not 
easy to remain au courant.
How glad you will be to see the little creature. I am convinced that you will 
not be able to recognise our child, unless her little eyes and black crest of 
hair reveal the secret to you. Everything else is really quite different now, 
only the resemblance to you becomes ever more obvious. During the last few days 
she has begun to eat a little broth made from the herbs which I have brought 
with me, and she relishes it greatly. In the bath she splashes with her little 
hands so much that the whole room is flooded, and then she dips her tiny finger 
in the water and afterwards licks it hastily. Her little thumb, which she has 
always kept bent and then made to peep out between her fingers, has become so 
unusually supple and flexible owing to this habit, that one cannot help being 
astonished by it. She can become a little piano player -- I believe she can do 
magic tricks with her little thumb. When she cries, we quickly draw her 
attention to the flowers in the wall-paper, and then she becomes quiet as a 
mouse and gazes so long that tears come into her eyes. We must not talk to her 
for too long because it makes her over-exert herself. She wants to imitate every 
sound and answer it, and the fact that her forehead swells and reddens is a sign 
of excessive strain. Incidentally, she is the acme of cheerfulness. Every kind 
of look you give her makes her laugh. You ought to see what a darling little 
creature I shall bring with me. When she hears anyone speaking she at once looks 
in that direction and goes on looking until something fresh happens. You can't 
have any idea of the liveliness of the child. For whole nights through her 
little eyes refuse to close in sleep, and if one looks at her she laughs out 
loud. She is happiest when she sees a light or the fire. By that means one can 
allay her heaviest storm. Karl dear, how long will our little doll play a solo 
part? I fear, I fear, that when her papa and mama are together once again, and 
live in common ownership, the performance will soon become a duet. Or should we 
set about it in the good Parisian style? Usually one finds the greatest number 
of children where the means are smallest. Recently a poor man with ten children 
asked for relief from Chief Burgomaster Gortz. When he was reproached for having 
produced so many children, his only reply was to say: there is a parish fte 
once a year even in the tiniest and most insignificant village. Then he was 
given assistance, and no doubt he will be celebrating the eleventh parish fte.
We have not seen your relatives for a long time. First the great illustrious 
visit and now the important arrangements for the marriage, so that one's 
presence is inopportune, one does not receive any calls and is oneself modest 
enough not to visit them again. The marriage is on August 28. On Sunday the 
banns were called for the first time. In spite of all the magnificence, 
Jettchen's health becomes worse every day, her cough and hoarseness are 
increasing. She can hardly walk any longer. She goes about like a ghost, but 
married she must be. It is generally regarded as terrible and unscrupulous. 
Rocholl, however, is said to be in favour of it in order to secure something for 
his nephew. I don't know whether that can turn out well. If at least they were 
going to live in a town -- but in a miserable village, and in winter at that. I 
can't imagine how your relatives can be cheerful and happy about it. If fate did 
not somewhat dampen their spirits, there could be no escape from their 
haughtiness. And the boasting about grand parties and brooches, ear-rings and 
shawls! I cannot understand your mother. She herself has told us that she thinks 
Jettchen is consumptive, and yet she lets her marry. But Jettchen is said to 
want it very strongly. I am curious to know how it will all turn out.
In Trier there is already such a stir and bustle as I have never seen. There is 
activity everywhere. All the shops have been newly smartened up, everyone is 
arranging rooms for lodging. We, too, have got a room ready. The whole of 
Coblenz is coming here and the cream of society is joining in the procession. 
All the hotels are already full up. 210 new pubs have been established, as well 
as circuses, theatres, menageries, dioramas, international theatres, in short, 
everything one could think of is already announcing its presence. The entire 
palace square is covered with tents. Entire wooden houses have been erected 
outside the gates. Trier marches on Sunday. Everyone has to join a procession 
and then come the villages. Every day some 16,000 people. Frau Stein has already 
sold 400 talers' worth of tiny copies of the sacred linen cloth, made out of old 
strips of ribbon. Rosaries, worth from six pfennigs to one hundred talers, are 
displayed at every house. I, too, have bought a little medallion for my little 
one, and yesterday she herself obtained a small rosary. You cannot imagine the 
bustling activity that is going on here. Next week half Luxemburg is coming; 
cousin Michel has also announced his arrival. All the people seem to be mad. 
What is one to think about it? Is it a good sign of the times that everything 
has to go to extremes, or are we still a long way from our goal?
Where you are, too, all hell is being let loose. Will things be patched up once 
more? And tell me, what did the blockhead [note: Ruge] say about your article? 
Has he given tit for tat, replied or kept silent? Jung really is an 
exceptionally noble characher. What a good thing it is that you are now a little 
bit in funds again. Only always bear in mind, when the purse is full, how 
quickly it becomes empty again, and how difficult it is to fill it. You dear 
good Karl, darling of my heart. How I love you, how my heart yearns for you. I 
should like so very much that Edgar could still see his charming niece. If only 
he became an uncle barrister -- then I could earlier talk to Mother about my 
departure. Our little doll is just eating her soup. Just think, she does not 
want to lie down at all any more, she wants to sit upright all the time. She is 
then better able to look around her. Tell me, dear heart, for some time past I 
have noticed that you no longer mention Guerrier. Has anything happened in 
connection with the worthy cousin? And is there no news of the divine Georga?
I am very eager to know what the Pomeranian is going to do now. Will he keep 
silent or will he make a row? It is peculiar that from Cologne there never comes 
anything unpleasant, but always the best. After all, how loyal our friends are, 
how solicitous, tactful and considerate. Even if it is painful to have to ask 
for money, in relation to these people it surely ceases to be at all unpleasant 
and onerous. I can hardly go on writing, the baby keeps distracting my attention 
with her delicious chuckles and attempts at speech. You cannot have any idea of 
the beauty of her forehead, the transparency of her skin and the wonderful 
delicacy of her tiny hands.
Dear good heart of my heart. Do write to me again quite soon. I am so very happy 
when I see your handwriting. You dear, good. sweet, little wild boar. You dear 
father of my little doll.
Adieu, heart of my heart.



 







