Karl Marx; his life and work

Karl Marx was exceedingly fortunate in his childhood. To the comfortable circumstances of his family, which the thrift and industry of his self-made father made possible, must be added those exceptional qualities of mind and heart in the father which made him such an admirable parent for such a son. Heinrich Marx might almost be said to have possessed parental genius — a genius which his illustrious son inherited. He was gifted with that rare insight into child nature which enabled him to become the companion of his children. Above all, he was fortunately enabled to appreciate the gifts of the boy Karl, which marked him as one set apart in the family; to understand his strange temperament and the perils to which It exposed him, and thus to guide him with wisdom through some of the most perilous experiences of boyhood and youth. The wisdom of the great philosopher and economist of Socialism was made possible by the wisdom of the conservative lawyer, his father.

The grave lawyer with a passion for philosophic study was not too grave to be an acceptable companion to his children. Perhaps this was because throughout his life he preserved the spirit of romanticism which characterised his youth. Be that as it may, he was the constant playmate and companion of his little ones. He early discerned Karl’s marked intellectuality and rejoiced in it. As soon as the little fellow began to ask the numberless questions common to childhood, often about the great “ultimate” things, the father began to train his I mind. As soon as he was able to read, the father read to him and with him the writings of Voltaire and Racine, and other

28

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

29

favourites, and discussed with him questions of philosophy, religion, and history in a spirit of perfect frankness. It cannot be doubted that this early training under the guidance of such a sympathetic and wise teacher greatly influenced the life of the future Socialist leader. It probably had much to do with forming that love for philosophy which characterized his life and determined his studies at the universities of Bonn and Berlin.

There was, moreover, a great moral value in this parental guidance. Karl was a strong, imperious lad, of fiery temper and * impetuous manner and spirit. He was, in fact, at heart a poet f and possessed the passionate, wayward, artistic temperament; I and these discussions which required so much patience, governed by the trained legal mind of the father, were admirably calculated to school the boy to patience and self-control. Long afterward, during the years of his wandering exile, he was the most gentle of teachers, and the kindness and unending patience with which he taught classes of working men in Brussels and London the principles of political economy always surprised those who knew how impatient he was in so many other ways, how volcanic his nature was.

Among the most intimate friends of Heinrich Marx was a : Prussian official, Baron Ludwig von Westphalen, whose in- j fluence upon the life of the boy Karl was second only to that | of his father. Baron von Westphalen was a half Scot, de- j scended through his mother from the unfortunate Archibald, Earl of Argyll, who was publicly executed as a rebel at the market cross of Edinburgh, in 1685, by order of James II. Westphalen had come to Trier in 1816, two years after the annexation of the province to Prussia, and two years before the birth of Karl Marx. He came from Salzwedel, where he was president of the Provincial Court, to fill the more exalted position of National Adviser. It was very natural that Westphalen and Heinrich Marx should become fast friends, for they had much in common. It was natural, too,

30

KARL MARX

that Westphalen’s little daughter Jenny, who was born on the twelfth of February, 18x4, and was therefore two years old when the family came to Trier, should become the companion of little Sophie Marx, who was not much younger than herself. It was also quite natural that when a little brother came to Sophie, little Jenny von Westphalen should take a special interest in the event. Thus it was that in course of time, when Karl grew big enough to play, he and Jenny became almost inseparable companions. The generous, handsome and manly boy was as a brother to the beautiful and romantic little girl, whose beauty was already remarkable. Later on, the feels ing grew to be that of lover and lover.

Baron von Westphalen was very fond of his friend’s children, his little Jenny’s constant companions, and especially of the bright, imperious Karl. He loved to gather the children at his knee and tell them stories from his almost inexhaustible store. He read Homer and Shakespeare and Cervantes to them, and Karl revelled in the rich fields of romance through which these led him. A boy could scarcely be more fortunate than was the future Socialist. It was from Westphalen, then, that Karl Marx derived his love for poetry and romantic literature, just as he derived his love for philosophical reading and speculation from his father. Throughout his life he retained a passionate love for the writings of Goethe, Lessing, Shakespeare, Cervantes, and Dante, the sublime masterpiece of the great Italian poet and mystic appealing strongly to his poetic temperament and the great fundamental religious instincts of his nature.

At school Karl gave early evidence of unusual ability, amounting almost to genius. A schoolboy who is steeped in the lore of Voltaire and Leibnitz, who knows his Racine, Shakespeare and Cervantes almost by heart — are there such boys in these days, even in Germany ? —■ and who is the companion of his father, is very apt to be a good deal of a prig. But young Marx was not one of your typical bookworms, an intolerable bore with priggish manners. On the contrary, he

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

3i

was a strong, active lad, full of mischief, and never so happy as when indulging in some boisterous, boyish fun, except, possibly, when writing satirical verses exposing to ridicule whoever among his companions might incur his displeasure or scorn. The withering sarcasm which made him such a terrific polemicist in later life had already manifested itself in school days, and caused many of his companions to treat him with marked respect and deference.

But if the aptitude for sarcasm which gave his mouth that familiar half-sneer so characteristic of him in later years, made him an object of fear, his warm and generous nature, so unmistakably expressed by his luminous, kindly eyes, made him a general favourite, an object of love and admiration. A brave, manly fellow with a passion for achievement and a genius for study, it was inevitable that he should be a general favourite with his teachers and fellow pupils. The radical tendencies which later caused his father and mother so much pain had not yet appeared, of course, but there was already developed in his character an altruistic passion which led his father to predict with confidence that he was destined to “ serve humanity.” Handsome, beloved by all who knew him, and successful in all that he undertook at school, his mother watched him with wondering admiration, fondly and proudly calling him her “ Fortune Child.”

At the Trier Gymnasium, from which he graduated when he was little more than sixteen years of age, Karl bore a good reputation and earned a very creditable record, both for behaviour and successful study. His great capacity for planning extensive work with thoroughness, his creative ability and his marked superiority in Greek and Latin studies were especially noted in his school report. He possessed a genuine love for the classic languages, and translated them with singular success, particularly, it is worthy of note, where the difficulty was in expressing subtle distinctions of meaning such as a lad does not usually discover for himself. Evidently his mind was al-

32

KARL MARX

ready remarkable for its fine penetration. Of his Latin transla-' tions it was said that they were often faulty in phrasing, but quite remarkable for their perfect comprehension of the thought of the original.

« With this equipment, then, Karl Marx entered the University 1 of Bonn. The choice of a career seems to have been very difficult, and the subject of much anxious discussion between him and his father. There is a legend to the effect that the father set himself in opposition to the son’s wishes and forced him to study law against his will. There seems, however, to be no substantial ground for believing this to be true. Doubtless the boy’s early training, and especially the combined influences of his father and Baron von Westphalen, had given his mind a very decided bent in the direction of philosophic study and a love for romantic literature. He wanted to be a great philosopher and a great poet, and the father so far sympathized with his aspirations as to write, during the son’s days of indecision at the university, encouraging him to try to win immortality by : writing a great Prussian ode. But we know that young Marx | did not himself freely choose the study of jurisprudence, that "he regarded it as a “ necessary evil,” and took it up to please his father. While, therefore, there is no reason for believing that the father actively opposed his son’s wishes or tried to force him to the study of jurisprudence, it is a fair inference that he urged him to do so. From the very practical nature of the letters which he wrote to his son during his university days, and from the latter’s decided dislike for the study, it is probable that the father cherished the hope that Karl might one day become a great jurist. It is morally certain that the son would not have taken up his legal studies except for his father’s advice. Further, it is more than probable that Baron von Westphalen lent his strong influence to this advice, pointing to the brilliant success of his own son, Edgar von Westphalen, fifteen years older than Marx, who later became a Minister of State.

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

33

At Bonn the student was not at all successful, disappointing his parents and friends, who had, quite naturally, expected him to achieve rapid distinction and success there as he had done at the Gymnasium. A foolish escapade or two, for which he was sternly rebuked by his father, some extravagance which led to trouble over his debts, seem to have been the most note-, worthy accomplishments of his year at Bonn. The environ-j ment was not congenial, and the lad found nothing to inspirej him. His father was sorely disappointed, but generally patient and kind, and wrote urging him to take up the study of chemistry and physics. Karl replied that these subjects were not well taught at Bonn, that Berlin was the proper place for such studies, and begged to be transferred to the University of Berlin. To this the father consented and Karl left Bonn after a rather unprofitable year.

It is not unlikely that his failure at Bonn was in some degree due to the fact that he had become conscious of a great change in his attitude toward his old playmate, the rich and beautiful Jenny von Westphalen. We are justified in assuming so much in the light of what took place immediately after. He was no longer satisfied to be her friend. In the critical period of adolescence, friendship had ripened into love, such love as a brave and romantic soul alone can feel. But, even to the generous, optimistic youth, this love must have seemed almost hopeless. Jenny was four years older than himself, to begin with. She was rich, while he was poor; she was known as the most beautiful girl in Trier, and, naturally, worthy suitors were not wanting. It may well be, then, that the state of mind produced by these circumstances had much to do with the failure at Bonn in that first year of university life.

However that may be, we know that when he returned to his home in Trier for a brief visit before his departure to the University of Berlin, Karl lost no time in pressing his suit. As he told his children many years later, he was a true Roland in his wooing and determined to succeed. Being four years

34

KARL MARX

the elder, Jenny was not blind to the many issues involved in the suit of her daring and impetuous lover. She knew well enough that he had nothing to offer her in the way of fortune, and that he had come to her in his new role of lover with the shadow of his Bonn failure resting upon him. And while not lacking in romanticism herself, she knew very well that her lover was so much of an idealist, so romantic in his nature, that the hard “ practical ” virtues so desirable in a husband had not been developed in his character. But in the splendid light of her own love and the fire of Karl’s pleading, the fears disappeared, and she became engaged to the future Socialist philosopher and economist.

As a matter of course there had to be some romantic element about this engagement, something to distinguish it from the ordinary, so the young lovers agreed that they would keep it secret — at least from the Westphalens — for a time. Karl, who had never kept a secret from his father, told him of the engagement and of the arrangement to keep it secret. To Heinrich Marx, who was the very soul of honour, this presented a very difficult problem. To share in this conspiracy of silence seemed to be disloyal to his old friend the Baron; to violate Karl’s confidence by revealing the engagement seemed equally to be disloyal to Karl and to Jenny, whom he already loved as he loved his own children. Mrs. Marx was likewise troubled by the clandestine nature of the engagement, while rejoicing with her husband at the “ Fortune Child’s ” good luck. After a great deal of argument on the part of father and son, the youthful lover prevailed, and the father agreed to keep the secret, i Karl Marx went to the University of Berlin with a happy heart, engaged to the beautiful Jenny von Westphalen. He 1 was matriculated at Berlin on October 22, 1836, being then 18 years and 5 months old. The University of Berlin was | at that time still enjoying some of the splendid glory of the ■ great name of Hegel, who had died five years before. During

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

35.

the time that great metaphysician held the chair of Theology there, Berlin University was the Mecca of German students. They came from all parts of Germany, often at great sacrifice, to enjoy the priceless advantage of sitting at Hegel’s feet. Among those who studied there was Ludwig Feuerbach, the philosopher of humanitarian religion, whose Wesen des Chris- tenthums 1 profoundly influenced the mental development of Marx, as may be seen from his and Engels’ Die Heilige Families David Strauss, author of the Life of Jesus, was another.

But while the University of Berlin was still enjoying some of the splendour of Hegel’s fame, it was already declining. It had begun to lose some of the great prestige it had enjoyed during the time Hegel was in active service there. Marx en- , tered the university when it was undergoing a transition. Less j on account of the passing of Hegel than because of changing j economic conditions, theology and speculative philosophy in j general occupied a secondary place in the life and thought of t: the nation; practical subjects, such as jurisprudence, now held the place of honor. A new school of Naturalist philosophers \ had arisen under the leadership of the brilliant Alexander von j Humboldt. Philosophy and history were the two subjects of \ study which most appealed to Marx, but he studied jurispru- j dence to please his father, “ as a necessary evil,” he said.

It was his good fortune to have begun his studies in juris- a prudence under those eminent jurists, Frederich Karl von Sa- I vigny and Eduard Gans, the former of whom was lecturing at the university upon Roman Law, the latter upon Criminal Law j and Prussian Property Rights. Others who were lecturing and : teaching at the University of Berlin at the time were Rudolff Erbrecht, upon Theology, Philosophy, and Philology; Bruno Bauer, upon Theology; Karl Ritter, upon Geography; and J.

1 Translated by George Eliot, under the title Essence of Christianity.

² Die Heilige Familie oder Kritik der Kritischen Kritik, ei.ne Streit- schift gegen Bruno Bauer und Konsorten. Von Friedrich Engels und Karl Marx. Frankfurt a. M., 1845, p. 139*

3^

KARL MARX

f P. Gabler, upon Logic. Of these, Bruno Bauer and Rudolff ! Erbrecht were Marx’s personal friends. Of all the others, Eduard Gans seems to have exercised the greatest influence upon him, special mention being made in the report he received upon leaving of his attention to the lectures of his friend Bauer and those of Gans.

j As a matter of fact, he studied only a little more successfully at Berlin than he had previously done at Bonn. He worked very hard, it is true, often endangering his health by the intensity of his studies, but it was mainly independent personal work outside of the university altogether. During | the term he attended very few lectures indeed, and though he I successfully graduated, in 1841, at Jena, with the degree of l Doctor of Philosophy, he cannot be said to have had a very < distinguished university career.

. From the letters of his father which have been preserved, as well as from his own confessions in later life, it is very evident

₍

that during a large part of his stay at Berlin Marx was in the
throes of a great mental and spiritual struggle, the first of his
life and the greatest. First of all, there was his love affair,

I the secret engagement with Jenny von Westphalen. It seems

1 that Jenny refused to; correspond directly with her student
lover; though she had secretly engaged herself to him, she re-
fused to write of her love until such time as the engagement
could be avowed openly and acknowledged. Whether Karl
had agreed to this before leaving Trier for Berlin is not known,
but it is certain that he soon began to pine for letters from
his sweetheart. If he had consented to the arrangement while
at Trier, in Berlin it soon became quite unbearable to him.
He was, moreover, haunted by a feeling that he had not done
quite right by his old friends, Jenny’s parents. Brooding over
these things, he became morose and unhappy, and wrote to his
father in the most pathetic and pessimistic manner imaginable.

He wrote also to Jenny, but she was obdurate and would not be moved from her determination. The romantic spirit which

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

37

led her to consent to a secret engagement did not permit her to maintain a lovers’ correspondence with her passionate young lover until her parents could know of her engagement. She, too, was unhappy and oppressed; to get tidings of her lover she was a frequent visitor at the Marx home, her friendship for Sophie Marx and the intimacy of the two families, offering all the necessary excuse for her presence there. Thus she learned of her lover’s progress, and he upon his part learned of Jenny from his sister and his ever faithful and devoted father. The strain upon the young girl appears to have made her ill and the knowledge of that added to her lover’s misery. Thus the father writes in one of his letters to his son: “ She

who in her childish belief and love has so utterly trusted herself to you, often against her own will, expresses a feeling of fear and a heavy heart which pains me and which I cannot understand. And no sooner do I mention it to her than she tries to drive away every painful doubt of my aching heart.” There is much that is at once pathetic and sublime in the part which the father played in the son’s troubled courtship, as well as something beautiful in the affectionate and tender relations of father and son. Heinrich Marx loved Jenny von Westphalen as dearly as if she were his own daughter, and throughout his letters to his son during the earlier period of his Berlin life there is the most earnest reiteration of his desire that Karl should recognize his obligations toward his future bride, especially to provide her with the comfort to which she was entitled. He insists that Karl must hurry to win a place for himself in the world, to recompense the “ girl angel ” for the great sacrifices she was making for his sake. He even goes so far as to advise what kind of love letters he should write to his beautiful sweetheart, advising him to make them as loving as possible, but to avoid “ filling them with poetical phantasies.” This advice was evidently inspired by his growing fear of his son’s radical notions, and the feeling that he lacked practical common sense, as idealists are apt to do. Thus, we find him

38

KARL MARX

writing in December, 1836, a grave warning against rash and radical utterances: “Your letters are not without truth, but

in this system they are apt to create alarm, and you don’t know how vehement a learned storm may prove. If the subject is shocking and impossible, we must at least try to make the form of its expression as mild and pleasing as possible.”

Then again, in March of the following year, he wrote: “ It

is wonderful that I, who by nature am awfully lazy to write letters, gladly do so when I write to you. I cannot and will not apply my bad habits to you. My heart throbs when I think of you and your future. And yet at times I cannot rid myself of the painful feeling, when like a flash of lightning the thought comes to me, that the goodness of your heart may upset the firmness of your mind; whether midst your dreams you have room for the earthly things, which are so necessary to a man with a good heart; if you are not ruled by a terrible' Demon, who so often destroys men, no matter whether he is of heavenly or hellish nature.” And again, in yet another letter, we find the father, himself practical and thrifty, expressing his doubt whether his son has these qualities: “ The wish

to see your name rise high in the world, as well as the one to see you well fixed in the earthly goods of the world, are not the only ones I cherish for you, though those mentioned have been long-dreamed-of illusions.” He is forever urging upon the youthful idealist the necessity and duty of caring for the practical things of life. One can well imagine in the light of his letters, what anguish the father would have felt had he lived to witness the subsequent career of his great son, with its years of bitter, harrowing poverty and suffering.

Karl’s letters to his sweetheart did not break her silence. Not a line would she write. Finally, in his despair, Karl wrote to his father, setting forth his intention to write to Jenny’s father, acquainting him with the facts and begging for his corn sent to the engagement. To this the father replied, warmly encouraging the idea, as may be supposed. The young lover

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

39

carried out his idea at once and was once again rewarded with ; the traditional luck of the “ Fortune Child.” Baron von West- : phalen was by no means blind to the fact that his daughter had more eligible suitors. Young Marx was not likely to be able to give his child the comfort and luxury to which she had ■ been accustomed — at least, not for some time. Her brother, \ Edgar, was already holding a very responsible position as Se- j cret Adviser to the Crown, and it was in fact something of a j social sacrifice for Jenny to marry the young Marx. But the | Baron loved his daughter dearly, and her love for the young \ student was the deciding factor; added to that, he also loved \ the lad whose development he had so decidedly influenced.

Marx was thus made happy by the consent of Jenny’s parents to the engagement, but there was still a drop of bitterness in his cup; Jenny would not write, even now, and remained as silent as before. Even when her father urged her to write freely to her lover, she refrained. Karl was sad and bitterly disappointed and not even the assurances of Jenny’s father that she was his, “ heart and soul,” could comfort him. His letters to his father grew more and more violent. How bitter and unreasonably passionate some of these letters must have been may be judged from a response to some of them by his father, dated November 17, 1837: “I am disgusted with your

letters; their irrational tone is loathsome to me; I would never have expected it of you. What cause can you have for them? Weren’t you the child of good luck from your very cradle? Wasn’t nature generous to you? Haven’t your parents loved you with a great love? Was there ever a time when you could not satisfy the least one of your wishes? Weren’t you lucky to win the heart of a girl who is the envy of thousands ? And now, the first step of opposition, the least discomfort brings forth your pessimism I Do you call that strength or manly character ? But the ' Fortune Child ’ is always in luck. Your good mother did not leave a stone unturned, and she had the cooperation of your Jenny’s noble parents, who were so

40

KARL MARX

anxious to see the moment when her wounded heart would submit. By this time you must already be the happy possessor of her missive.”

The letter, so long desired, to which reference is thus made by the father, reached Karl some eight or ten days before the father’s letter was written. Writing to his parents on the tenth of November, he says: “ Her letter received. Give my best wishes to my sweet, beautiful Jenny. I have re-read her letter twelve times, and every time I find new charm in it. It is in every respect, even in style, the finest letter that I have ever received from a lady.” Rather more than a year had passed away since the young student had left the parental roof at Trier, madly intoxicated with the wine of love. It had been for him a year of bitter struggle, the memory of which could not be eclipsed at once, even by the receipt of Jenny’s letter. The letter to his parents, just quoted, concludes with a question born out of the bitter memories of the struggle: “ What sat

isfaction do I find when I look back at the year spent in this place ? ” he asks. Happiness and hope, however, were derived from the promise contained in the letter from his father that he should come home for a brief visit the following Easter. The promise softened the scolding contained in the letter and gave the troubled youth something to look forward to — but the future held bitter disappointment for him, even in that.

His love troubles were not the only ones which caused him unhappiness in that first year at Berlin. They may have been* and it seems most likely that they were, the fundamental causes of the mental and spiritual unrest which characterized his life at this period. One reads the account he himself wrote of his work and struggles at this time with mingled feelings of pity and admiration — pity for his suffering of mind and body, admiration for his tireless energy.

When he first took up his residenpe in Berlin, young Marx went to live at No. i, Old Leipziger Street, in the house where




Johanna Bertha Julie Jenny von Westphalen

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

4i

the great Lessing had resided during his last visit to Berlin. He plunged at once into his studies, visiting nobody, and re- t fusing to call upon various persons of influence, to whom he had been recommended, even when begged to do so by his; father. He wrote poetry and planned the writing of a num-j her of novels. He wrote three volumes of poems and inj December, two months after his matriculation, we find his sis-V ter Sophie writing to him that “ Jenny cried when she read the poem, ‘Tears of Joy and Sorrow.’” While he must have* devoted a great deal of time to the writing of poetry, as we may judge from the volume of his output, he by no means gave himself wholly to the Muses. Poetry was a diversion, a serious diversion, no doubt, but still only a diversion. Philosophy 5 and jurisprudence claimed his attention. He read the works { of the celebrated jurist, Johann Gottlieb Heinneccius, in his ; first semester, and studied pure philosophy, writing, it is said, ji some three hundred pages upon the subject of Positive Right, ( trying to work out an elaborate system of metaphysics for himself. He studied the higher mathematics, read omnivorously (i a varied collection of works upon German history, art, and literature, taking copious notes upon all he read. During j the same period he studied English and Italian grammar, read j: up on Petty Criminal Law, translated the Germania of Tacitus, j Ovid’s Libri Tristium and other classics, and kept up with the « new literature of the period.

At the end of his first semester his mind turned away from j the heavier studies to poetry and the drama. Hopes that he j might become a great poet and dramatist possessed him for a j while and tortured his soul with the struggle they precipitated, j “ Everything was centred on poetry,” he wrote once, “ as if I were bewitched by some unearthly power.” When the young philosopher turned from his own poetical effusions to the works of the great masters, comparing them with that fine candour for which he was famous, he became his own most unsparing critic. He could not fail to see what a gulf stretched between his verse

42

KARL MARX

and the sublime poetry which was his standard. We know what he felt from the bitter cry: “ The riches of true poetry dazzled me and turned all my hopes to naught.”

That Marx had true poetic instinct and feeling is unquestionable. His life-long fondness for poetry, thousands of lines of which he stored in his wonderful memory, and the keen critical sense of poetic forms which made his criticism and advice so welcome to Heine and Freiligrath, prove that he was endowed with real poetic sense and imagination. Not a few of Heine’s poems were suggested by him, and it is said he often supplied whole lines to Freiligrath’s fiery rhymes. But at this period his mental state was too anarchic for lyrical expression, his thoughts too confused, formless and indefinite for song. There is a note of self-revelation in his perplexed cry:

“ Doch wie sollen Worte richtig zwangen Selber Nebelrauch und Schall,

Was unendlich ist, wie Geistesdrangen,

Wie du selber und das All? ” 1

There is a surer and happier note in his lover-like contentment and peace:

Da ward ich tief gebunden,

Da ward mein Auge klar,

Da hatte ich gefunden,

Das dunkles Streben war.

Was nicht mein Geist erflogen,

Getrieben vom Geschick,

Das kam ins Herz gezogen Von selbst mit deinem Blick.2

1 How can words, mere empty words, express it, That waft hence like smoke-wreaths lightly curled, What is mighty as the mind’s endeavour,

,What is infinite as is the world?

2 My heart profoundly fettered,

My soul’s eye clearer grew;

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH 43

The turbulent spirit of the future revolutionist could not for long remain calm and restful, even under the tranquillising spell of Jenny’s love. A wild, restless spirit within pitilessly urged him onward:

Nimmer kann ich ruhig treiben,

Was die Seele stark erf asst,

Nimmer still behaglich bleiben,

Und ich sturme ohne Rast.

Alles mocht’ ich mir erringen,

Jede schonste Gottergunst,

Und im Wissen wagend dringen Und erfassen Sang und Kunst.1

It is the fighter who speaks in the stanzas that follow, calling us to deeds of daring. Anything is better than a life of calm submission:

Darum lasst uns Alles wagen,

Nimmer rasten, nimmer ruhn,

Nur nicht dumpf so gar nichts sagen,

Und so gar nichts woll’n und thun.

What I had vaguely hoped for I found at last in you.

What I had failed to master On life’s harsh, thorny ways,

It came to me uncalled for With thy enchanting gaze.

1 Ne’er can I perform in calmness What has seized my soul with might,

But must strive and struggle onward In a ceaseless, restless flight.

All divine, enhancing graces Would I make of life a part;

Penetrate the realms of science,

Grasp the joys of Song and Art.

44

KARL MARX

Nur nicht briitend hingegangen Aengstlich in dem niedem Joch,

Denn Has Sehnen und Verlangen Und die That, sie blieb uns doch.1

Not much need be said of Marx’s poetry. As the foregoing quotations indicate, it is of biographical, not literary, interest. The preservation of the three manuscript volumes of verse addressed by the youthful lover to his future bride does not imply that either Marx or his wife regarded them seri. ously, as poetry, in later years. It is natural that the devoted, wife should preserve with care and tender affection the boyish effusions, and that what had been so sacred to her the husband should have been unwilling to destroy after her death. It remains only to be said that wrhen, from time to time, the books were taken from their resting places to the light, husband and wife indulged in much merry joking over them, s Under the fierce strain of his unregulated study the young I man’s health broke down completely. The father wrote urg- \ ing him not to tax himself so severely and to get out into the fresh air of the country more often. A physician who had to be called in, giving the same advice, Karl removed to Stralau, a suburb of the city. How much of a recluse he had been up to that time may be judged from a passage in one of his letters saying that upon his removal to Stralau he traversed the length of the city for the first time during his sojourn in

1 Let us do and dare our utmost,

Never from the strife recede,

Never live in dull inertia,

So devoid of will and deed.

Anything but calm submission To the yoke of toil and pain!

Come what may then, hope and longing,

Deed and daring still remain.

Note: For these translations the author is indebted to Mrs. Meta L. Stern (“Hebe”) of the New Yorker Volkszeitung.

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

45

Berlin. Medical care and plenty of fresh country air revived his bodily strength, but that only meant the renewing of the great mental and spiritual struggle which had caused so many sleepless nights at the house in Old Leipziger Street. He was j seeking a spiritual anchorage, struggling with the great ulti-f mate questions of life. He hoped to find what he sought in ’s Hegel, as so many others had done, but he was disappointed. j At times he seemed almost to lose his reason, so intense was 1 the spiritual struggle which filled his life at this period. At one time he was for days unable to control his thoughts and found relief only in a brief hunting trip which he took in company with his Stralau host.

When health again returned, he decided to eschew meta- i physical studies and to devote himself to positive science. He | studied law, criminology and history and kept up his Latin ’ studies. But he could not so easily free himself from the great spiritual struggle. The questions were yet unanswered and the expedient of merely refusing to read about them did not bring release from their terrible pressure. Added to this cause was his sweetheart’s silence, which, as we have seen, caused him so much unhappiness. In a fit of melancholy he burned poems, plays and plots for novels, hoping to find mental rest and peace, but that, also, was in vain. Once more he became sick, and, during his sickness, turned again to Hegel and vainly sought a solution of his problems in a thorough study of the great philosopher’s works.

When his soul was torn and distressed by the agony of the great mental struggle which he was enduring, he wrote freely to his father in letters which often were as wild and incoherent as his thoughts. In one letter he wrote: “ In the hope that

you, forever beloved and dear father, would understand the manifold moods of mine where the heart would often like to live and enjoy, but is conquered by my restless spirit, I wish you were here with me, so that I could hold you tight to my breast, and express to you all that goes on within it.” In re-

46

KARL MARX

sponse to a letter from his father in which, true to his solicitude for the future comfort of his son’s promised bride, the thrifty lawyer had suggested that Karl should try to obtain a professorship, the latter writes about the possibility of his starting a periodical and accepting the suggestion as to a professorship, and adds: “ But, my dear and good father, is it not

possible to talk these matters over with you? I will remain here if I do not get your full consent. Believe me, dear father, that I have no special cause for wanting to go home (though I would like much to see Jenny again), but it is my thoughts that drive me, and those I cannot explain.” At another time he writes: “ Dear father, do forj. ve the awful handwriting

and the terrible style! It is almost four o’clock in the morning; the candle is almost all burned out and my eyes pain me. An awful unrest took hold of me, and I shall not be able to conquer the feeling until I can feel your love right close to me.

But the staid, precise and calm official could not understand : his beloved son in this unsettled state. Perhaps had he been with him, witnessing his struggle, instead of depending on those letters filled with wild strange cries, he would have understood. As it was, he was distressed, disappointed, and angry. On December i, 1837, he wrote his son a long, scathing letter full of remorse and upbraiding. As one reads the letter to-day it is evident that the fierce protest was torn from a loving but sadly disappointed heart.

He begins the letter by steeling his heart against his son: “ When one realizes his weakness one must try and battle against it. If I were to write in the ordinary way, then I am sure that at the end my love for you would make me assume the sentiment of tone I always take. ... I too want to express my complaints, and real complaints they are.” Quite systematically and lawyer-like he proceeds to an indictment, all the more severe because of the repressed love struggling to find expression, but denied by parental sorrow and justice. He

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

47,

asks what tasks confront a young man endowed by nature with extraordinary gifts, when (a) he idolizes his father and mother; (b) has captured the heart of the noblest girl living; (c) is about to enter one of the worthiest families. “ You forget that to the world it appears that she, dear child, your bride, is entering on a path full of danger and trouble ”— this of course referring to her lover’s comparative poverty and social inferiority.

With legal precision and severity, the father proceeds to the indictment of the son he had ceased to understand until, on the fifth page of his letter, his anger bursts forth uncontrolled:

“ Complete disorder, silly wandering through all branches of » science, silly brooding at the burning oil lamp; turned wild in ■ your coat of learning and unkempt hair; and in your wildness you see with four eyes — a horrible set-back and disregard for f everything decent. And in the activity of this senseless and | purposeless learning you want to raise the fruits which are to unite you with your beloved one! What harvest do you ex- ' pect to gather from them which will enable you to fulfil your duty toward her?” Then, feeling his love growing stronger than his anger, he says: “ My usual weakness is taking hold

of me once more, but in order to say what I must say, I try to swallow the bitter pill and fulfil what I undertook to do, as for this once I mean to be really harsh and to bring forth all my complaints.”

Taking up the indictment again, he reminds Karl of his foolish escapades at Bonn, of debts incurred, of the pain and distress brought upon his beautiful sweetheart. Of one of the poor lad’s letters, he says: “ A mad composition, which de

notes clearly how you waste your ability and spend nights in order to create those monsters. You are surely following in the footsteps of those malicious young men who proclaim their ideas so long and so loud, until their own ears do not hear what their mouths utter; who possess a torrent of words, but perverted thoughts as to the nature of genius.” Turning to Karl’s

48

KARL MARX

mismanagement of his financial affairs, he says: “We did

our best so that our son might be able to spend 700 thalers ... while the sons of the richest parents do not spend more than 500. I give him credit that he is not a spendthrift. But how can a man who finds a new system every week or two, and has to destroy all the work he did on the former one . . . bother about petty details? Everybody who wishes

to do so has a hand in his pockets, everybody cheats him.”

The father’s letter goes on to warn his son against dissipation of his energies, points out that the slow, plodding, steady students accomplish most, that nothing but harm to body and mind could result from such feverish restlessness as Karl’s letters too plainly indicated. Then love and pride once more assert themselves. He tells Karl that his sisters complain of his neglect of them —“ especially the good Sophie, who suffered so much on your and1 Jenny’s account, and who is so devoted to you.” He denies Karl’s request to be allowed to go home for a visit, saying, “ It would be sheer madness for you to come here just now! . . . You can come home for

the Easter holidays, or even two days before then — I am not so petty as all that; and in spite of this harsh letter of mine you can rest assured that I will receive you with open arms and a father’s loving heart, which at present throbs with pain.”

From another of the father’s letters which the son carefully preserved, dated February 10, 1838, we gather that Karl had written defending himself against his father’s attacks and foregoing the promised Easter visit that his father might be spared unnecessary pain. When we remember that this meant also the giving up of a long visit with his sweetheart, the sacrifice becomes apparent. The father’s letter, written a few hours after he had risen from an illness which had kept him abed for five weeks, praises the son for his goodness of heart and his thoughtfulness. “ But rest assured that the sacrifice is not on one side only,” he writes. “We are all in the same boat, but reason must be the conqueror.” He goes on to say.

BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

49

“ When I wrote that outspoken letter I was in the frame of mind to make you account for all your deeds, but it seems that my mood did not succeed in finding the right method of doing it.” Still his anger is not all gone, for he adds: “ But I could still permit myself to take up those transactions once more and present to you every single complaint, but I would not undertake an abstract reasoning with you, as you are master of that art.”

Once more he returns to the great practical question which always distressed him, more for Jenny’s sake, probably, than for Karl’s: “ Only on one subject I am still in the dark as to your views, and on that subject you are shrewd enough to keep silent. I mean that cursed gold, whose worth to a family man you do not seem to grasp at all . . . though you

unjustly claim that I dp not know, or do not understand you. I leave it to your heart and sense of justice to decide for yourself whether you are right in either judgment.” Pathetically surrendering in what was to him a bitter struggle, he adds: “ I am not blind, and fatigue only causes me to lay down my weapons. Nevertheless, you must remember that you are dear to my heart, and are the greatest hope of my life.”

To this letter, the last the father ever wrote to his son, the mother added a postscript in which she told of her husband’s weakness, of the sweet Jenny’s goodness to her lover’s parents and her efforts to brighten their home. Referring to her bitter disappointment at the postponement of Karl’s visit, she wrote, “ I am very unhappy on account of it, but I must use my reason as a curtain for my feelings.”

On the 26th of February his mother wrote, saying: “ Your father’s cough is much better, but he suffers from a loss of appetite, and on account of his long illness has become awfully irritable.” She begs Karl to write “ very tenderly ” to his father, as he “ reads the letters over and over again.” Of her son’s adored Jenny, there is a characteristic message: “ Whenever dear Jenny comes to us she usually remains for

KARL MARX

the day and tries to entertain your father. She is a darling child and I hope that she will make you really happy.” To the letter the father added a brief postscript, a mere scrawl, barely legible: “ Dear Karl, accept my best wishes; I cannot as yet write much.”

I Karl went home at Easter, after all, and was present at | his father’s death bed on May 10, 1838. Heinrich Marx ‘ died of tuberculosis at the comparatively early age of 56 years. The last years of his life had been unhappy ones, clouded by disappointment in his son and failure to understand him. That neither sire nor son was to blame for this misunderstanding is evident from the father’s letters. It was a phase of that tragic conflict of the old man and the new which runs like a thread through the whole fabric of history. Karl Marx loved his father with a love as rare as it was beautiful, and all his life was marked by tender devotion to his father’s memory. One who knew him well in the days of the International said of him: “ Karl Marx has three saints whom he worships: they

are his father, his mother, and his wife.”

■