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. ...
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