London, 8 September 1852 
28 Dean Street, Soho 

Dear Engels, 

Your letter today found us in a state of great agitation. 

My wife is ill. Little Jenny is ill. Lenchen has some sort of 
nervous fever. I could not and cannot call the doctor because I 
have no money to buy medicine. For the past 8-10 days I have 
been feeding the family solely on bread and potatoes, but whether 
I shall be able to get hold of any today is doubtful. Such a diet is 
not, of course, beneficial in present climatic conditions. I have not 
written any articles for Dana because I didn’t have a penny to go and 
read the papers. By the way, as soon as you send No. XIX, I shall 
write and give you my views on No. XX, 1.e. a résumé of the present 
dirty business.*"* 

When I was with you' and you told me you would be able to 
find me a somewhat larger sum by the end of August, I wrote and 
told my wife that to reassure her. Your letter of 3-4 weeks ago” 
hinted that there were no great prospects, but still left some. 
Accordingly I had put off all creditors—who, as you know, are 

a Helene Demuth. - > See this volume, pp. 147-48. 

always paid by dribs and drabs—until the beginning of Sep- 
tember. Now the storm is breaking out on all sides. 

I have tried everything, but in vain. First I am cheated out of 
£15 by that cur Weydemeyer. I write to Streit* in Germany 
(because he had written to Dronke in Switzerland). The brute does 
not deign to answer. I approach Brockhaus” and offer him an 
article of entirely innocuous contents for the Gegenwart. He sends 
a very polite letter of refusal. Finally I spend the whole of last 
week trailing round with an Englishman‘ who said he would find 
someone to discount the bills on Dana for me. Pour le roi de 
Prusse.* 

The best and most desirable thing that could happen would be 
for the landlady to throw me out. Then I would at least be quit of 
the sum of £22. But such complaisance is hardly to be expected of 
her. On top of that, debts are still outstanding to the baker, the 
milkman, the tea chap, the greengrocer, the butcher. How am I to 
get out of this infernal mess? Finally, and this was most hateful of 
all, but essential if we were not to kick the bucket, I have, over the 
last 8-10 days, touched some German types for a few shillings and 
pence. 

You'll have seen from my letters that, as usual, when I myself 
am in the shit and not just hearing about it at second-hand, I 
plough through it with complete indifference. Yet, que faire?© My 
house is a hospital and so worrying is the crisis that it compels me 
to devote all my attention to it. Que faire? 

Meanwhile Mr Goegg is again on a pleasure trip to America, 
STEAMER First class. Mr Proudhon has pocketed a few 100,000 fr. for 
his anti-Napoleon’ and Papa Massol has been generous enough to 

leave the miner, fouiller, etc., to me?” Je le remercie bien” 
Your 
K. M.