[Manchester,] 20 September 1852 

Dear Marx, 

I didn’t know that you were in such a hurry for the translation ‘ 
and let the thing slide for a bit because, as I said,’ I wasn’t well, 
and also because 1 wanted to tease Pieper a little for having been 
so pressing. However, I immediately set to work yesterday and 
would have finished had not the aging Mr Schily* walked into my 
room at about 2 in the afternoon. He wishes to open a factory in 

4 with creditors - > See this volume, p. 185. - © into English of the first chapter of 
K. Marx’s work The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte-4 See this volume, 
p. 184. - © Victor 

Liverpool for the production of a purported patent soda which 
would yield 400-500 per cent clear profit and might, depending 
on circumstances, produce 4 ', million talers a year. He wanted to 
discuss this fantastic plan with me—and was all ready to fall for 
the swindle with a few thousand talers which his brother says he 
will procure for him. Mr Heise is in it too, but is investing nothing 
but his talents. After the dispassionate advice he has received here, 
the noble Schily will probably keep his hands off the thing and will 
take advantage of a possible opening as Liverpool human cargo 
agent for a fleecer of emigrants in Le Havre. Mr Heise once had a 
natty little plan whereby the funds of the National Loan were to 
be used for this soda swindle; the work was to be carried on 
democratically and the millions thus raked in* devoted to the 
liberation of Europe. It is a pity that nothing came of this scheme, 
which would seem to have foundered largely on the impossibility 
of mustering thirty refugees able to hold their tongues. 

I was, of course, under an obligation to get the noble Schily 
tipsy—il n’y avait pas moyen G@ y échapper.” It’s some time since I 
encountered such an innocuous beast. The stupidity and ignor- 
ance and thoughtlessness of such a man of principle has to be seen 
to be believed. When he had become a little tipsy——I was engaged 
in an argument with a third German, Charles’© cousin—he 
shouted incessantly, although very good-humouredly: Don’t you 
believe that; Engels believes in nothing, there’s nothing at all 
Engels believes in, none of the fellows of the N. Rh. Z. believe in 
anything, no one can fathom them. There’s nothing at all Engels 
believes in! I, of course, replied that the fellows of the N. Rh. Z. 
did not find it in the least difficult to fathom the likes of him. This 
morning the worthy fellow, after a sober handshake, set course for 
Liverpool again, and by tonight the translation will be finished. 
But I get dreadfully held up over the thing since I have to make a 
new translation of all the more difficult bits without exception— 
Pieper makes shift with a literal translation in every case, the result 
being utter nonsense. There are, by the way, some bits which are 
almost impossible to translate. 

However, I will do my utmost to have finished by tonight so that 
you can have it tomorrow. 

Your 
F. E. 

a An ironical reminiscence of Schiller’s words ‘Seid umschlungen, Millionen!’ in his 
ode ‘An die Freude’ (‘To Joy’). - © there was no escaping it - © Roesgen 

If at all possible, I shall send you another pound within the next 
few days.