The Marx He Knew

 [Illustration: KARL MARX. ]

 The Marx He Knew

 BY JOHN SPARGO

 Author of "The Bitter Cry of the Children, " "Socialism, A Summary and Interpretation of Socialist Principles, " "The Common Sense of Socialism, " "Karl Marx: His Life and Work, " Etc. , Etc. , Etc. 

 CHICAGO CHARLES H. KERR & COMPANY 1909

 Copyright, 1909

 BY CHARLES H. KERR & COMPANY

 TO MADAME LAURA LAFARGUE DAUGHTER OF KARL MARX

List of Illustrations

KARL MARX, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH _Frontispiece_

 FACING PAGE

HIS BIRTHPLACE AT TRIER, FROM AN OLD PRINT 10

JOHANNA BERTHA JULIE VON WESTPHALEN, FROM A PAINTING FROM LIFE 19

FREDERICK ENGELS, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH 32

FERDINAND LASSALLE, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH 47

THE MARX FAMILY GRAVE, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH 83

THE MARX HE KNEW

I

The pale, yellow light of the waning day streamed through the dustywindow panes of the little cigar shop, and across the bench where oldHans Fritzsche worked and hummed the melody of _Der Freiheit_ thewhile. 

The Young Comrade who sat in the corner upon a three-legged stoolseemed not to hear the humming. His eyes were fixed upon a largephotograph of a man which hung in a massive oak frame above the benchwhere Old Hans rolled cigars into shape. The photograph was old andfaded, and the written inscription beneath it was scarcely legible. The gaze of the Young Comrade was wistful and reverent. 

"Tell me about _him_, Hans, " he said at last. 

Old Hans stopped humming and looked at the Young Comrade. Then hiseyes wandered to the portrait and rested upon it in a gaze that waslikewise full of tender reverence. 

Neither spoke again for several seconds and only the monotonousticking of the clock upon the wall broke the oppressive silence. 

"Ach! he was a wonderful man, my comrade, " said Old Hans at length. 

"Yes, yes, he was a wonderful man--one of the most wonderful men thatever lived, " responded the Young Comrade in a voice that was vibrantwith religious enthusiasm. 

Both were silent again for a moment and then the Young Comradecontinued: "Yes, Marx was a wonderful man, Hans. And you knew him--sawhim smile--heard him speak--clasped his hand--called him comrade andfriend!"

"Aye, many times, many times, " answered Old Hans, nodding. "Hundredsof times did we smoke and drink together--me and him. "

"Ah, that was a glorious privilege, Hans, " said the Young Comradefervently. "To hear him speak and touch his hand--the hand that wrotesuch great truths for the poor working people--I would have gladlydied, Hans. Why, even when I touch your hand now, and think that itheld _his_ hand so often, I feel big--strong--inspired. "

"Ach, but my poor old hand is nothing, " answered Old Hans with adeprecating smile. "Touching the hand of such a man matters nothing atall, for genius is not contagious like the smallpox, " he added. 

"But tell me about him, Hans, " pleaded the Young Comrade again. "Tellme how he looked and spoke--tell me everything. "

"Well, you see, we played together as boys in the Old Country, inTreves. Many a time did we fight then! Once he punched my eye and madeit swell up so that I could hardly see at all, but I punched his noseand made it bleed like--well, like a pig. "

"What! you made him _bleed_?"

"Ach! that was not much; all boys fight so. "

"Well?"

"My father was a shoemaker, you see, and we lived not far away fromwhere Karl's people lived. Many a time my father sent me to theirhouse--on the Bruckergrasse--with mended shoes. Then I would see Karl, who was just as big as I was, but not so old by a year. Such a fineboy! Curly-headed he was, and fat--like a little barrel almost. 

[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF KARL MARX. ]

"So, when I took the shoes sometimes I would stop and play with him abit--play with Karl and the girls. He was always playing withgirls--with his sister, Sophie, and little Jenny von Westphalen. 

"Sometimes I liked it not so--playing with girls. They were older thanwe boys and wanted everything to go their way, and I liked not thatgirls should boss boys. So once I teased him about it--told him thathe was a baby to play with girls. Then it was that we fought and hegave me a black eye and I gave him a bloody nose in return. 

"Sometimes the Old Man, Karl's father, would come into my father'sshop and stay a long while chatting. He was a lawyer and father only ashoemaker; he was quite rich, while father was poor, terribly poor. But it made no difference to Herr Marx. He would chat with father bythe hour. 

"You see, he was born a Jew, but--before Karl was born--he turnedChristian. Father had done the same thing, years before I was born. Why he did it father would never tell me, but once I heard him andHeinrich Marx--that was the name of Karl's father--talking about it, so I got a pretty good idea of the reason. 

"'Of course, I am not a believer in the Christian doctrines, friendWilhelm. ' he said to my father. 'I don't believe that Jesus was God, nor that he was a Messiah from God. But I do believe in a God--in oneGod and no more. 

"'And I'm not so dishonorable as to have become a Christian, and tohave had my children baptized as Christians, simply to help me in myprofession, ' he said. 'Some of our Hebrew friends have said that, butit is not true at all. As I see it, friend Wilhelm, Judaism is toonarrow, too conservative. Christianity makes for breadth, for culture, for freedom. And it is keeping to ourselves, a people set apart, whichmakes us Jews hated and despised, strangers in the land. To become onewith all our fellow citizens, to break down the walls of separation, is what we need to aim at. That is why I forsook Judaism, Wilhelm. '

"From the way that father nodded his head and smiled I could tell, though he said little, that he was the same sort of a Christian. "

"But it was about _him_, the son, that you were speaking, Hans. "

"Ach, be patient. Time is more plentiful than money, boy, " respondedHans, somewhat testily. 

"Well, of course, we went to the same school, and though Karl wasyounger than me we were in the same class. Such a bright, cleverfellow he was! Always through with his lessons before any of the restof us, he was, and always at the top of the class. And the stories hecould tell, lad! Never did I hear such stories. In the playgroundbefore school opened we used to get around him and make him tellstories till our hair stood on end. "

"And was his temper cheerful and good--was he well liked?" asked theYoung Comrade. 

"Liked? He was the favorite of the whole school, teachers and all, myboy. Never was he bad tempered or mean. Nobody ever knew Karl to do abad thing. But he was full of mischief and good-hearted fun. He lovedto play tricks upon other boys, and sometimes upon the teachers, too. 

"He could write the funniest verses about people you ever heard inyour life, and sometimes all the boys and girls in the school would beshouting his rhymes as they went through the streets. If another boydid anything to him, Karl would write some verses that made the fellowlook like a fool, and we would all recite them just to see the poorfellow get mad. Such fun we had then. But, I tell you, we were awfullyafraid of Karl's pin-pricking verses!

"Once, I remember well, we had a bad-tempered old teacher. He was acrabbed old fellow, and all the boys got to hate him. Always using therod, he was. Karl said to me one day as we were going home fromschool: 'The crooked old sinner! I'll make him wince with some versesbefore long, Hans, ' and then we both laughed till we were sore. "

"And did he write the verses?" asked the Young Comrade. 

"Write them? I should say he did! You didn't know Karl, or you wouldnever ask such a question as that. Next morning, when we got inschool, Karl handed around a few copies of his poem about old Herr vonHolst, and pretty soon we were all tittering. The whole room was in acommotion. 

"Of course, the teacher soon found out what was wrong and Karl wascalled outside and asked to explain about them. 'I'm a poet, Herrteacher, ' he said, 'and have a poet's license. You must not ask a poetto explain. ' Of course, we all laughed at that, and the poor Herr vonHolst was like a great mad bull. "

"And was he disciplined?"

"To be sure he was! His father was very angry, too. But what did wecare about that? We sang the verses on the streets, and wrote them onthe walls or anywhere else that we could. We made it so hot for thepoor teacher that he had to give up and leave the town. I wish I couldremember the verses, but I never was any good for remembering poetry, and it was a long, long time ago--more than three score years ago now. 

"We thought it was funny that Karl never gave over playing with thegirls--his sister and Jenny von Westphalen. When we were all big boysand ashamed to be seen playing with girls, he would play with themjust the same, and sometimes when we asked him to play with us hewould say, 'No, boys, I'm going to play with Jenny and Sophie thisafternoon. ' We'd be mad enough at this, for he was a good fellow tohave in a game, and sometimes we would try to tease him out of it. But he could call names better than we could, and then we were allafraid of his terrible verses. So we let him alone lest he make uslook silly with his poetry. 

"Well, I left school long before Karl did. My father was poor, yousee, and there were nine of us children to feed and clothe, so I hadto go to work. But I always used to be hearing of Karl's cleverness. People would talk about him in father's shop and say, 'That boy Marxwill be a Minister of State some day. '

"By and by we heard that he had gone to Bonn, to the University, andeverybody thought that he would soon become a great man. Father waspuzzled when Heinrich Marx came in one day and talked very sadly aboutKarl. He said that Karl had wasted all his time at Bonn and learnednothing, only getting into a bad scrape and spending a lot of money. Father tried to cheer him up, but he was not to be comforted. 'MyKarl--the child in whom all my hopes were centered--the brightest boyin Treves--is a failure, ' he said over and over again. 

[Illustration: JOHANNA BERTHA JULIE JENNY VON WESTPHALEN. ]

"Soon after that Karl came home and I saw him nearly every day uponthe streets. He was most always with Jenny von Westphalen, and peoplesmiled and nodded their heads when the two passed down the street. My!What a handsome couple they made! Jenny was the beauty of the town, and all the young men were crazy about her. They wrote poems about herand called her all the names of the goddesses, but she had no use forany of the fellows except Karl. And he was as handsome a fellow asever laughed into a girl's eyes. He was tall and straight as a line, and had the most wonderful eyes I ever saw in my life. They seemed todance whenever he smiled, but sometimes they flashed fire--when he wasvexed, I mean. But I suppose that what the girls liked best was hisgreat mass of coal black curls. 

"The girls raved about Karl, and he could have had them all at hisfeet if he would. I know, for I had two sisters older than myself, andI heard how they and their friends used to talk about him. But Karlhad no eyes for any girl but Jenny, except it was his sister. 

"Folks all said that Karl and Jenny would marry. Rachel--that's myoldest sister--said so one night at the supper table, but our goodmother laughed at her. 'No, Rachel, they'll never marry, ' she said. 'Jenny might be willing enough, but the old Baron will never let herdo it. Karl's father is rich alongside of poor people like us, butpoor enough compared with Jenny's father. Karl is no match for thebeautiful Jenny. '

"Then father spoke up. 'You forget, mother, that Heinrich Marx is thebest friend that old Baron von Westphalen has, and that the Baron isas fond of Karl as of Jenny. And anyway he loves Jenny so much thathe'd be sure to let her marry whoever she loved, even if the man hadnot a thaler to his name. '

"Soon Karl went away again to the University at Berlin, not back toBonn. Thought he'd get on better at Berlin, I suppose. He might havebeen gone a year or more when his father came into father's littleshop one day while I was there. He said that Karl wasn't doing as wellat Berlin as he had expected. He tried to laugh it off, saying thatthe boy was in love and would probably settle down to work soon andcome out all right, upon top as usual. 

"It was then that we learned for the first time that Karl and Jennywere betrothed, and that the old Baron had given his blessing to hisdaughter and her lover. Very soon all the gossips of the town weretalking about it. Some said that there had been quite a romance aboutit; that the young folks had been secretly engaged for nearly a year, being afraid that the Baron would object. 'Twas even said that Karlhad been made ill by the strain of keeping the secret. Then, when atlast Karl wrote to old Westphalen about it, and asked for Jenny in amanly fashion, the old fellow laughed and said that he had alwayshoped it would turn out that way. So the silly young couple hadsuffered a lot of pain which they could have avoided. 

"Of course, lots of folks said that it wasn't a 'good match, ' thatJenny von Westphalen could have married somebody a lot richer thanKarl; but they all had to admit that she couldn't get a handsomer orcleverer man than Karl in all the Rhine Province. 

"But things seemed to be going badly enough with Karl at theUniversity. Herr Heinrich Marx cried in our little shop one eveningwhen my father asked him how Karl was doing. He said that, instead ofstudying hard to be a Doctor of Laws, as he ought to do, Karl waswasting his time. 'He writes such foolish letters that I am ashamed ofhim, ' said the old man. 'Wastes his time writing silly verses andromances and then destroying most of them; talks about becoming asecond Goethe, and says he will write the great Prussian drama thatwill revive dramatic art. He spends more money than the sons of thevery rich, and I fear that he has got into bad company and formed evilhabits. '

"Then father spoke up. 'Don't be afraid, ' he said. 'I'll wager thatKarl is all right, and that he will do credit to the old town yet. Some of our greatest men have failed to pass their examinations in theuniversities you know, Herr Marx, while some of the most brilliantstudents have done nothing worthy of note after leaving theuniversities crowned with laurels. There is nothing bad about Karl, ofthat you may be sure. '

"The old man could hardly speak. He took father's hand and shook itheartily: 'May it be so, friend Wilhelm, may it be so, ' he said. Inever saw the old man again, for soon after that he died. 

"Karl came home that Easter, looking pale and worn and thin. I wasshocked when he came to see me, so grave and sad was he. We went overto the old Roman ruins, and he talked about his plans. He had given upall hopes of being a great poet then and wanted to get a Doctor'sdegree and become a Professor at the University. I reminded him of theverses he wrote about some of the boys at school, and about the oldteacher, Herr von Holst, and we laughed like two careless boys. Hestood upon a little mound and recited the verses all over as thoughthey had been written only the week before. Ach, he looked grand thatnight in the beautiful moonlight!

"Then came his father's death, and I did not see him again, except asthe funeral passed by. He went back to Berlin to the University, and Iwent soon after that away from home for my wanderjahre, and for along time heard nothing about Karl. 

II

"Two or three years after that I was working in Cologne, where I had asweetheart, when I read in a paper, the _Rhenische Zeitung_, thatthere would be a democratic meeting. I liked the democratic ideaswhich I found in the paper, for they were all in the interest of poortoilers like myself. So I made up my mind to go to the meeting. 

"So that night I went to the meeting and listened to the speeches. Presently _he_ came in. I didn't see him at first, but heard a slightnoise back of me and heard someone near me say 'Here comes DoctorMarx. ' Then I turned and saw Karl making his way to the front, alleyes fastened upon him. I could see in a moment that he was muchbeloved. 

"Then Karl made a speech. He was not a great orator, but spoke clearlyand right to the point in very simple language. The speaker who spokebefore him was very eloquent and fiery, and stirred the audience to afrenzy. But never a sound of applause greeted Karl's speech; he waslistened to in perfect silence. 

"This made me feel that Karl's speech was a great failure, but nextday I found that the only words I remembered of all that were spokenthat evening were the words Karl spoke. It was the same way with theother men in the shop where I worked. As they discussed the meetingnext day, it was Karl's speech they remembered and discussed. That waslike Karl: he had a way somehow of saying things you couldn't forget. 

"When the meeting was over I was slinking away without speaking tohim. I suppose that I was bashful and a bit afraid of the grave'Doctor Marx, ' the great man. But he saw me going out and shouted myname. 'Wait a minute, Hans Fritzsche, ' he cried, and came running tome with outstretched hands. Then he insisted upon introducing me toall the leaders. 'This is my good friend, Herr Fritzsche, with whom Iwent to school, ' he said to them. 

"Nothing would satisfy him but that I should go with the other leadersand himself for a little wine, and though I was almost afraid lest insuch company I seem foolish, I went. You should have heard Karl talkto those leaders, my boy! It was wonderful, and I sat and drank inevery word. One of the great men was urging that the time had comefor some desperate action. 'Nothing but a bloody revolution can helpthe working people, Herr Marx, ' he said. But Karl smiled quietly, andI thought I could see the old scornful curl of his lip as he said:'Revolution? Yes, but not yet, Herr, not yet, and perhaps not a bloodyone at all. ' Ach, what quiet power seemed to go with his words!

"After the little crowd broke up Karl took me with him to his office. Then I learned that he was the editor of the _Rhenische Zeitung_, andthat the articles I had read in the paper pleading for the poor andoppressed and denouncing the government were written by him. I feltalmost afraid of him then, so wonderful it seemed that he should havebecome so great and wise. But Karl soon put all my fears to rest, andmade me forget everything except that we were boys from home enjoyingthe memories of old times. 

"Well, I saw him often after that, for I joined the Democratic Club. Then the government suppressed the paper, and Karl went away to Paris. Before he went he came to say good bye and told me that he was tomarry Jenny von Westphalen before going to Paris, and I told him thatI was going to marry, too. 

"But we never thought that we should meet each other upon ourhoneymoons, as we did. I was at Bingen with my Barbara the day afterour wedding when I heard someone calling my name, and when I turned tosee who it was that called me there stood Karl and his Jenny laughingat me and my Barbara, and all of us were blushing like idiots. Suchhappy days those were that we spent at old Bingen!

"I went back to Cologne, to work in the shop belonging to my Barbara'sfather, and Karl went to Paris. That was in forty-three. We heard fromhim sometimes, and later on we used to get copies of a paper, _Vorwarts_, which published articles by Karl and other great men. Bakunin wrote for it, I remember, and so did Heine and Herwegh, oursweet singers. 

"That paper was stopped, too. We heard that Guizot had suppressed thepaper and ordered Karl and some of the other writers to be expelledfrom France. It was Alexander von Humboldt who persuaded Guizot, so itwas said. I got a letter from Karl to say that he had settled inBrussels with his wife and that there was a baby, a little Jenny, eight months old. Our little Barbara was just the same age. 

"Not long after that letters came to the club asking for Karl'saddress. They were from Engels, of whom I had never heard before. Iwould not give the address until we found out that Engels was a truefriend and comrade. We were all afraid, you see, lest some enemywanted to hurt Karl. It was good, though, that I could send theaddress to Engels, for I believe that he sent some money to help Karlout of a very hard struggle. If we had known that he was in troublewe, his friends in Cologne, would have sent money to help, but Karlwas too proud I suppose to let his trouble be known to us. 

III

"It was in the winter of 1847 that I saw him again, in London. Formonths all the workingmen's societies had been agitated over thequestion of forming an international association with a regularprogramme, which Karl had been invited to draw up. A congress was tobe held in London for the purpose of considering Karl's programme andI was sent by the Cologne comrades as a delegate. All the members'chipped in' to pay my expenses, and I was very happy to go--happybecause I should see him again. 

[Illustration: FREDERICK ENGELS. ]

"So I was present at the rooms of the Arbeiterbildungsverein, in GreatWindmill Street, when Karl read the declaration of principles andprogramme he had prepared. That was the _Communist Manifesto_, youknow. "

"What! were you really present when that immortal declaration of theindependence of our class was read, Hans?"

"Aye, lad, I was present during all the ten days the congress lasted. Never, never shall I forget how our Karl read that declaration. Like aman inspired he was. I, who have heard Bernstein and Niemann and manyanother great actor declaim the lines of famous classics, never heardsuch wonderful declamation as his. We all sat spellbound and still asdeath while he read. Tears of joy trickled down my cheeks, and notmine alone. When he finished reading there was the wildest cheering. Ilost control of myself and kissed him on both cheeks, again and again. He liked not that, for he was always ashamed to have a fuss made overhim. 

"But Karl--he always insisted that I should call him 'Karl, ' as inboyhood days--had shown us that day his inner self; bared the secretof his heart, you might say. The workers of all countries mustunite--only just that, unite! And that night, after the long sessionof the congress, when he took me away with Engels and a few otherfriends--I remember that Karl Pfander was one--he could speak oflittle else: the workers must be united somehow, and whoever proposedfurther divisions instead of unity must be treated as a traitor. 

"Some there were who had not his patience. Few men have, my lad, forhis was the patience of a god. They wanted 'action, ' 'action, ''action, ' and some of them pretended that Karl was just a plaincoward, afraid of action. There was one little delegate, a Frenchman, who tried to get me to vote against the 'coward Marx'--me that hadknown Karl since we were little shavers together, and that knew him tobe fearless and lion-hearted. I just picked the creature up and shookhim like a terrier shakes a rat and he squealed bitterly. I don'tthink he called Karl a coward again during the congress. 

"Of course, Karl had courage enough for anything. But he was too wiseto imagine that any good could come from a few thousand untrainedworkingmen, armed with all sorts of implements, dangerous most tothemselves, challenging the trained hosts of capitalist troops. Thatwas the old idea of 'Revolution, ' you know, and it took more courageto advocate the long road of patience than it would take to join in asilly riot. And Karl showed them that, too, by his calm look andscornful treatment of their cry for 'action. ' The way he silenced thenoisy followers of Wilhelm Weitling--who was not a bad fellow, mind--was simply wonderful to see. Oh, he was a born leader of men, was Karl. 

"When the congress was all over, I meant to stay a few days in Londonto see the great city. Barbara had a sister living over in Dean streetand so it would cost me nothing to stay. But Karl came to me andbegged me to go back by way of Brussels. He and Engels were returningthere at once, and would like to have me go with them. I didn't wantto go at first, but when Karl said that there were some messages hewanted me to take back to Cologne, why, of course, I went. 

"Ach, what a glorious time we had on that journey to Brussels!Sometimes Karl and Engels would talk seriously about the great cause, and I just listened and kept my mouth shut while my ears were wideopen. At other times they would throw off their seriousness as a manthrows off a coat, and then they would tell stories and sing songs, and of course I joined in. People say--people that never knew thereal Karl--that he was gloomy and sad, that he couldn't smile. Isuppose that is because they never saw the simple Karl that I knew andloved, but only Marx, the great leader and teacher, with a thousandheavy problems burdening his mind. But the Marx that I knew--my friendKarl--was human, boy, very human. He could sing a song, tell a goodstory, and enjoy a joke, even at his own expense. "

A smile lit up the face of the Young Comrade. "I'm so glad of that, Hans, " he said. "I've always been told that he was a sad man, withouta sense of humor; that he was never known to unbend from his stiffgravity. But you say that he was not so; that he could laugh and jokeand sing: I like him better so. "

Old Hans seemed not to hear the words of the Young Comrade, though hewas silent while they were spoken. A faint smile played around hislips, and the far-away expression of his eyes told that the smilebelonged to the memory of other days. It was dark now in the littleshop; only the flickering light of the fitful fire in the tiny grateenabled the Young Comrade to see his friend. 

It was the Young Comrade who broke the silence at last: "Tell me more, Hans, for I am still hungry to learn about him. "

The old man nodded and turned to put some chips upon the fire in thegrate. Then he continued:

"It was about the last of February, 1848, that we got the first copiesof the _Communist Manifesto_ at Cologne. Only a day or two before thatwe had news of the outbreak of the Revolution in Paris. I have stillmy copy of the _Manifesto_ which Karl sent me from Paris. 

"You see, he had been expelled from Brussels by order of theGovernment. Prussia had requested this, so Karl wrote me, and he wasarrested and ordered to leave Belgium at once. So he went at once toParis. Only a week before that the Provisional Government had sent himan official invitation to come back to the city from which Guizot hadexpelled him. It was like a conqueror that he went, you may imagine. 

"Boy, you can never understand what we felt in those days. Things arenot so any more. We all thought that the day of our victory was surelynigh. Karl had made us believe that when things started in France theproletariat of all Europe would awaken: 'When the Gallican cock crowsthe German workers will rise, ' he used to say. And now the cock'scrowing had been heard! The Revolution was successful in France--so wethought--and the people were planting trees of liberty along theboulevards. 

"Here in England, too, the Spirit of the Revolution was abroad withher flaming torch. The Chartists had come together, and every day weexpected to hear that the monarchy had been overthrown and a SocialRepublic established. Of course, we knew that Chartism was a 'breadand butter question' at the bottom, and that the Chartists' cause wasours. 

"Well, now that we had heard the Gallican cock, we wanted to getthings started in Germany, too. Every night we held meetings at theclub in Cologne to discuss the situation. Some of us wanted to beginwar at once. You see, the Revolution was in our blood like strongwine: we were drunk with the spirit, lad. 

"When Karl wrote that we must wait, that we must have patience, therewas great disappointment. We thought that we should begin at once, andthere were some who said that Karl was afraid, but I knew that theywere wrong, and told them so. There was a fierce discussion at themeeting one night over a letter which I had received from Karl, andwhich he wanted me to read to the members. 

"George Herwegh was in Paris, so the letter said, and was trying hardto raise a legion of German workingmen to march into the Fatherlandand begin the fight. This, Karl said, was a terrible mistake. It wasuseless, to begin with, for what could such a legion of tailors andcigarmakers and weavers do against the Prussian army? It was plainthat the legion would be annihilated. Besides, it would hurt the causein another way by taking out of Paris thousands of good revolutionistswho were needed there. 

"'Tell the comrades, ' he wrote, 'that it is not a question ofcowardice or fear, but of wisdom. It takes more courage to live forthe long struggle than to go out and be shot. ' He wanted the comradesto wait patiently and to do all they could to persuade their friendsin Paris not to follow Herwegh's advice. Most of the Germans in Parisfollowed Karl's advice, but a few followed Herwegh and marched intoBaden later on, to be scattered by the regular troops as chaff isscattered by the wind. 

"The German comrades in Paris sent us a special manifesto, which Karlwrote, and we were asked to distribute it among the working people. That would be a good way to educate the workers, Karl wrote to ourcommittee, but I tell you it seemed a very small thing to do in thosetrying times, and it didn't satisfy the comrades who were demandingmore radical revolutionary action. Why, even I seemed to forget Karl'sadvice for a little while. 

"On the 13th of March--you'll remember that was the day on which morethan a hundred thousand Chartists gathered on Kennington Common--therevolution broke out in Vienna. Then things began to move in Cologne, too. As soon as the news came from Vienna, August von Willich, who hadbeen an artillery officer, led a big mob right into the CologneCouncil Chamber. I was in the mob and shouted as loud as anybody. Wedemanded that the authorities should send a petition to the King, inthe name of the city, demanding freedom and constitutional government. 

"And then on the 18th, the same day that saw the people of Berlinfighting behind barricades in the streets--a great multitude of usCologne men marched through the streets, led by Professor GottfriedKinkel, singing the _Marseillaise_ and carrying the forbidden flag ofrevolution, the black, red and gold tricolor. "

"And where was he--Marx--during all this time?" asked the YoungComrade. 

"In Paris with Engels. We thought it strange that he should be holdingaloof from the great struggle, and even I began to lose faith in him. He had told us that the crowing of the Gallican cock would be the signfor the revolution to begin, yet he was silent. It was not till laterthat I learned from his own lips that he saw from the start that therevolution would be crushed; that the workers opportunity would notcome until later. 

IV

"He told me that when he came to Cologne with Engels. That was eitherthe last of April or the beginning of May, I forget which. My wiferushed in one evening and said that she had seen Karl going up thestreet. I had heard that he was expected, but thought it would not befor several days. So when Barbara said that she had seen him on thestreet, I put on my things in a big hurry and rushed off to the club. There was a meeting that night, and I felt pretty sure that Karl wouldget there. 

[Illustration: FERDINAND LASSALLE. ]

"When the meeting was more than half through, I heard a noise in theback of the hall and turned to see Karl and Engels making their way tothe platform. There was another man with them, a young fellow, veryslender and about five feet six in height, handsome as Apollo anddressed like a regular dandy. I had never seen this young man before, but from what I had heard and read I knew that it must be FerdinandLassalle. 

"They both spoke at the meeting. Lassalle's speech was full of fireand poetry, but Karl spoke very quietly and slowly. Lassalle was likea great actor declaiming, Karl was like a teacher explaining the rulesof arithmetic to a lot of schoolboys. "

"And did you meet Lassalle, too?" asked the Young Comrade in awedtones. 

"Aye, that night and many times after that. Karl greeted me warmly andintroduced me to Lassalle. Then we went out for a drink of lagerbeer--just us four--Karl, Lassalle, Engels and me. They told me thatthey had come to start another paper in the place of the one that hadbeen suppressed five years before. Money had been promised to startit, Karl was to be the chief editor and Engels his assistant. The newpaper was to be called the _Neue Rhenische Zeitung_ and Freiligrath, George Weerth, Lassalle, and many others, were to write for it. So wedrank a toast to the health and prosperity of the new paper. 

"Well, the paper came out all right, and it was not long before Karl'sattacks upon the government brought trouble upon it. The middle classstockholders felt that he was too radical, and when he took the partof the French workers, after the terrible defeat of June, they wantedto get rid of their chief editor. There was no taming a man like Karl. 

"One day I went down to the office with a notice for a committee ofwhich I was a member, and Karl introduced me to Michael Bakunin, thegreat Russian Anarchist leader. Karl never got along very well withBakunin and there was generally war going on between them. 

"Did you ever hear of Robert Blum, my lad? Ever read the wonderfulverses Freiligrath wrote about him? I suppose not. Well, Blum was amoderate Democrat, a sort of Liberal who belonged to the FrankfortNational Assembly. When the insurrection of October, 1848, broke outin Vienna Blum was sent there by the National Assembly, the so-called'parliament of the people. '

"He assumed command of the revolutionary forces and was captured andtaken prisoner by the Austrian army and ordered to be shot. I rememberwell the night of the ninth of February when the atrocious deed wascommitted. We had a great public meeting. The hall was crowded tosuffocation. I looked for Karl, but he was nowhere to be seen. He wasa very busy man, you see, and had to write a great deal for his paperat night. 

"It was getting on for ten o'clock when Karl appeared in the hall andmade his way in silence to the platform. Some of the comradesapplauded him, but he raised his hand to silence them. We saw thenthat he held a telegram in his hand, and that his face was as pale asdeath itself. We knew that something terrible had happened, and agreat hush fell over the meeting. Not a sound could be heard untilKarl began to read. 

"The telegram was very brief and very terrible. Robert Blum had beenshot to death in Vienna, according to martial law, it said. Karl readit with solemn voice, and I thought that I could see the murder takingplace right there in the hall before my eyes. I suppose everybody feltjust like that, for there was perfect silence--the kind of silencethat is painful--for a few seconds. Then we all broke out in a perfectroar of fury and cheers for the Revolution. 

"I tried to speak to Karl after the meeting, but he brushed me asideand hurried away. His face was terrible to behold. He was theRevolution itself in human shape. As I looked at him I knew that hewould live to avenge poor Blum. 

"Blum's death was followed by the _coup de' etat_. The King appointeda new ministry and the National Assembly was dissolved. The _NeueRhenische Zeitung_ came out then with a notice calling upon allcitizens to forcibly resist all attempts to collect taxes from them. That meant war, of course, war to the knife, and we all knew it. 

"Karl was arrested upon a charge of treason, inciting people to armedresistance to the King's authority. We all feared that it would gobadly with him. There was another trial, too, Karl and Engels and acomrade named Korff, manager of the paper, were placed on trial forcriminal libel. I went to this trial and heard Karl make the speechfor the defence. The galleries were crowded and when he got throughthey applauded till the rafters shook. 'If Marx can make a speech likethat at the 'treason' trial, no jury will convict, ' was what everybodyin the galleries said. 

"When we got outside--oh, I forgot to say that the three defendantswere acquitted, didn't I? Well, when we got outside, I told Karl whatall the comrades, and many who were not comrades at all, were sayingabout his defence. He was pleased to hear it, I believe, but all thathe would say was, 'I shall do much better than that, Hans, much betterthan that. Unless I'm mistaken, I can make the public prosecutor looklike an idiot, Hans. '

"You can bet that I was at the 'treason' trial two days later. Ipressed Karl's hand as he went in, and he looked back and winked at meas mischievously as possible, but said not a word. The lawyers forthe government bitterly attacked Karl and the two other members of theexecutive of the Democratic Club who were arrested with him. But theirabuse was mostly for Karl. He was the one they were trying to strikedown, any fool could see that. 

"Well, when the case for the prosecution was all in, Karl began totalk to the jury. He didn't make a speech exactly, but just talked ashe always did when he sat with a few friends over a glass of lager. Ina chatty sort of way, he explained the law to the jury, showed wherethe clever lawyers for the government had made big mistakes, andproved that he knew the law better than they did. After that he gavethem a little political lecture, you might say. He explained to themjust how he looked at the political questions--always from thestandpoint of the working people. 

"Sitting beside me was an old man, a Professor of Law they told me hewas. He sat there with his eyes fastened upon Karl, listening with allhis ears to every word. 'Splendid! Splendid! Wonderful logic, ' I heardhim say to himself. 'What a lawyer that man would make!' I watched thefaces of the jury and it was plain to see that Karl was making a deepimpression upon them, though they were all middle class men. Even theold judge forgot himself and nodded and smiled when Karl's logic madethe prosecution look foolish. You could see that the old judge wasadmiring the wonderful mind of the man before him. 

"Well, the three prisoners were acquitted by the jury and Karl wasgreatly pleased when the jury sent one of their members over to saythat they had passed a vote of thanks to 'Doctor Marx' for the veryinteresting and instructive lecture he had given them. I tell you, boy, I was prouder than ever of Karl after that, and went straighthome and wrote letters to half a dozen people in Treves that I knew, telling them all about Karl's great speech. You see, I knew that hewould never send word back there, and I wanted everybody in the oldtown to know that Karl was making a great name in the world. 

"The government got to be terribly afraid of Karl after that trial, and when revolutionary outbreaks occurred all through the RhineProvince, the following May, they suppressed the paper and expelledKarl from Prussia. 

"We had a meeting of the executive committee to consider what was tobe done. Karl said that he was going to Paris at once, and that hiswife and children would follow next day. Engels was going into thePalatinate of Bavaria to fight in the ranks, with Annecke, Kinkel, andCarl Schurz. All the debts in connection with the paper had been paid, he told us, so that no dishonor could attach to its memory. 

"It was not until afterward that we heard how the debts of the paperhad been paid. Karl had pawned all the silver things belonging to hiswife, and sold lots of furniture and things to get the money to paythe debts. They were not his debts at all, and if they were hisexpulsion would have been a very good reason for leaving the debtsunpaid. But he was not one of that kind. Honest as the sun, he was. Itwas just like him to make the debts his own, and to pinch himself andhis family to pay them. More than once Karl and his family had to liveon dry bread in Cologne in order to keep the paper going. My Barbarafound out once in some way that Karl's wife and baby didn't haveenough to eat, and when she came home and told me we both criedourselves to sleep because of it. "

"Could none of the comrades help them, Hans?"

"Ach, that was pretty hard, my boy, for Karl was very proud, and Iguess Jenny was prouder still. Barbara and I put our heads togetherand says she: 'We must put some money in a letter and send it to himsomehow, in a way that he will never know where it came from, Hans. 'Karl knew my writing, but not Barbara's, so she wrote a little letterand put in all the money she had saved up. 'This is from a loyalcomrade who knows that Doctor Marx and his family are in need of it, 'she wrote. Then we got a young comrade who was unknown to Karl andEngels to deliver the letter to Karl just as he was leaving for hisoffice one morning. 

"Barbara and I were very happy that day when we knew that Karl hadreceived the money, but bless your life I don't believe it did him anygood at all. He just gave it away. "

"Gave away the money--that was giving away his children'sbread--almost. Did he do _that_?"

"Well, all I know is that I heard next day that Karl had visited thatsame evening, a comrade who was sick and poor and in deep distress, and that when he was leaving he had pressed money into the hand of thecomrade's wife, telling her to get some good food and wine for hersick husband. And the amount of the money he gave her was exactly thesame as that we had sent to him in the morning. 

"Karl was always so. He was the gentlest, kindest-hearted man I everknew in my life. He could suffer in silence himself, nevercomplaining, but he could not stand the sight of another's misery. He'd stop anything he was doing and go out into the street to comforta crying child. Many and many a time have I seen him stop on thestreet to watch the children at play, or to pick up some crying littleone in his great strong arms and comfort it against his breast. Nevercould he keep pennies in his pocket; they all went to comfort thechildren he met on the streets. Why, when he went to his office in themornings he would very often have from two to half a dozen childrenclinging around him, strange children who had taken a fancy to himbecause he smiled kindly at them and patted their heads. 

"I heard nothing from Karl for quite a while after he went to Paris. We wondered, Barbara and I, why he did not write. Then, one day, about three months after he had gone to Paris, came a letter fromLondon and we saw at once that it was in his handwriting. He'd beenexpelled from Paris again and compelled to leave the city withintwenty-four hours, and he and his family were staying in cheaplodgings in Camberwell. He said that everything was going splendidly, but never a word did he say about the terrible poverty and hardshipfrom which they were suffering. 

V

"Well, a few months after that, I managed to get into trouble with theauthorities at Cologne, along with a few other comrades. We heard thatwe were to be arrested and knew that we could expect no mercy. SoBarbara and I talked things over and we decided to clear out at once, and go to London. We sold our few things to a good comrade, and withthe money made our way at once to join Barbara's sister in Deanstreet. I never dreamed that we should find Karl living next door tous. 

"But we did. Nobody told me about him--I suppose that nobody in ourhouse knew who he was--but a few days after we arrived I saw him passand ran out and called to him. My, he looked so thin and worn out thatmy heart ached! But he was glad to see me and grasped my hand withboth of his. Karl could shake hands in a way that made you feel heloved you more than anybody else in all the world. 

"In a little while he had told me enough for me to understand why hewas so pale and thin. If it were not for hurting his feelings, Icould have cried at the things he told me. He and the beautiful Jennywithout food sometimes, and no bed to lie upon! And it seemed all theworse to me because I knew how well they had been reared, how they hadbeen used to solid comfort and even luxury. 

"But it was not from Karl that I learned the worst. He was alwaystrying to hide the worst. Never did I hear of such a man as he was forturning things bright side upwards. But Conrad Schramm, who wasrelated to Barbara--a sort of second cousin, I think--lodged in thesame house with us. Schramm was the closest friend Karl and Jenny hadin London then, and he told me things that made my heart bleed. Why, when a little baby was born to them, soon after they came to London, there was no money for a doctor, nor even to buy a cheap cradle forthe little thing. 

"For years that poverty continued. I used to see Karl pretty nearevery day until I fell and hurt my head and broke my leg in two placesand was kept in the hospital many months. Barbara had to go out towork then, washing clothes for richer folks, and we couldn't offer tohelp dear old Karl as we would. So we just pretended that we didn'tknow anything about the poverty that was making him look so haggardand old. Karl would have died from the worry, I believe, if it had notbeen for the children. They kept him young and cheered him up. Hemight not have had anything but dry bread to eat for days, but hewould come down the street laughing like a great big boy, a crowd ofchildren tugging at his coat and crying 'Daddy Marx! Daddy Marx!Daddy Marx!' at the top of their little voices. 

"He used to come and see me at the hospital sometimes. No matter howtired and worried he might be--and I could tell that pretty well bylooking at his face when he didn't know that I was looking--he alwayswas cheerful with me. He wanted to cheer me up, you see, so he told meall the encouraging news about the movement--though there wasn't verymuch that was encouraging--and then he would crack jokes and tellstories that made me laugh so loud that all the other patients in theroom would get to laughing too. 

"I told him one day about a little German lad in a bed at the lowerend of the ward. Poor little chap, he had been operated on severaltimes, but there was no hope. He was bound to die, the nurse told me. When I told Karl the tears came into his eyes and he kept on moaning, 'Poor little chap! So young! Poor little chap!' He went down andtalked with him for an hour or more, and I could hear the boy'slaughter ring through the long hospital ward. We'd never heard himlaugh before, for no one ever came to see him, poor lonesome littlefellow. 

"Karl always used to spend some of his time with the little chap afterthat. He would bring books and read to him in his mother tongue, ortell him wonderful stories. The poor little chap was so happy to seehim and always used to kiss 'Uncle Nick, ' as Karl taught the boy tocall him. And when the little fellow died, Karl wept just as thoughthe lad had been his own kin, and insisted upon following him to thegrave. "

"Ah, that was great and noble, Hans! How he must have felt the greatuniversal heart-ache!"

"I used to go to the German Communist Club to hear Karl lecture. Thatwas years later, in the winter of 1856, I think. Karl had been stayingaway from the club for three or four years. He was sick of theirfaction fights, and disgusted with the hot-heads who were alwayscrying for violent revolution. I saw him very often during the timethat he kept away from the club, when Kinkel and Willich and otherromantic middle-class men held sway there. Karl would say to me: 'Bah!It's all froth, Hans, every bit of it is froth. They cry out forrevolution because the words seem big and impressive, but they mustn'tbe regarded seriously. Pop-gun revolutionists they are!'

"Well, as I was saying, I heard the lectures on political economywhich Karl gave at the club along in fifty-six and fifty-seven. Helectured to us just as he talked to the juries, quietly andslowly--like a teacher. Then he would ask us questions to find out howmuch we knew, and the man who showed that he had not been listeningcarefully got a scolding. Karl would look right at him and say: 'Anddid you _really_ listen to the lecture, Comrade So-and-So?' A fineteacher he was. 

"I think that Karl's affairs improved a bit just them. Engels used tohelp him, too. At any rate, he and his family moved out into thesuburbs and I did not see him so often. My family had grown large bythat time, and I had to drop agitation for a few years to feed andclothe my little ones. But I used to visit Karl sometimes on Sundays, and then we'd talk over all that had happened in connection with themovement. I used to take him the best cigars I could get, and healways relished them. 

"For Karl was a great smoker. Nearly always he had a cigar in hismouth, and, ugh!--what nasty things he had to smoke. We used to callhis cigars 'Marx's rope-ends, ' and they were as bad as their name. That the terrible things he had to smoke, because they were cheap, injured his health there can be no doubt at all. I used to say that itwas helping the movement to take him a box of decent cigars, for itwas surely saving him from smoking old rope-ends. '

"Poor Jenny! She was so grateful whenever I brought Karl a box ofcigars. 'So long as he must smoke, friend Fritzsche, it is better thathe should have something decent to smoke. The cheap trash he smokes isbad for him, I'm sure. ' She knew, poor thing, that the poverty heendured for the great Cause was killing Karl by inches, as you mightsay. And I knew it, too, laddie, and it made my heart bleed. "

"Ah, he was a martyr, Hans--a martyr to the cause of liberty. And 'theblood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church, ' always andeverywhere, " said the Young Comrade. 

VI

Old Hans was silent for a few seconds. He gazed at the photographabove his bench like one enraptured. The Young Comrade kept silent, too, watching old Hans. A curious smile played about the old man'sface. It was he who broke the silence at length. 

"Of course, you've heard about the International, lad? Karl had thatpicture taken just about the time that the International was started. Always promised me a picture he had, for years and years. And when hebrought me that one Sunday he seemed half ashamed of himself, as if hethought it was too sentimental a thing for a serious man to do. 'You'll soon get tired looking at it, Hans, ' he said. 

"Ach, I remember that afternoon as though it were only day beforeyesterday. We were sitting smoking and talking after dinner when Karlsaid: 'Hans, I've made up my mind that it is time things begun to movea bit--in connection with the movement I mean. We must unite, Hans. All the workers ought to unite--can unite--_must_ unite! We've got agood start in the visit of these French and German workingmen to theUniversal Exhibition. The bourgeoisie have shown the way. It must bedone. ' Then he explained to me how the movement was to be launched, and I promised to help as much as possible in my union. Karl alwayswanted to get the support of the unions, and many a time did he cometo me to get me to introduce some motion in my union. 

"It was that way when the great Civil War broke out in America. Karlwas mad at the way in which Gladstone and the middle class in generalsided with the slave-holders of the South. You see, he not only tookthe side of the slaves, but he loved President Lincoln. He seemednever to get tired of praising Lincoln. One day he came to me and saidwith that quiet manner he had when he was most in earnest, 'Hans, wemust do something to offset Gladstone's damned infernal support ofthe slave-traders. We must show President Lincoln that the workingclass in this country feel and know that he is in the right. AndAbraham Lincoln belongs to us, Hans; he's a son of the working class. '

"He said a lot more in praise of Lincoln, and told me how proud he wasthat the German Socialists had gone to the war, all enlisted in theNorthern army; said he'd like to join with Weydemeyer, his old friend, who was fighting under Fremont. So earnest he was about it! Nobodycould have guessed that the war meant ruin to him by cutting off hisonly regular income, the five dollars a week he got for writing forthe _New York Tribune_--I think that was the name of the paper. 

"Well, he begged me to get resolutions passed at our union condemningGladstone and supporting President Lincoln, and I believe that ourunion was the first body of workingmen in England to pass suchresolutions. But Karl didn't stop at that. He got the International totake the matter up with the different workingmen's societies, andmeetings were held all over the country. And he kept so much in thebackground that very few people ever knew that it was Karl Marx whoturned the tide of opinion in England to the side of Lincoln. And whenLincoln was murdered by that crazy actor, Booth, Karl actually cried. He made a beautiful speech, and wrote resolutions which were adoptedat meetings all over the country. Ah, boy, Lincoln appreciated thesupport we gave him in those awful days of the war, and Karl showed methe reply Lincoln sent to the General Council thanking them for it. 

"Karl was always like that; always guiding the working people to dothe right thing, and always letting other people get the credit andthe glory. He planned and directed all the meetings of the workersdemanding manhood suffrage, in 1866, but he never got the credit ofit. All for the cause, he was, and never cared for personal glory. Foryears he gave all his time to the International and never got a pennyfor all he did, though his enemies used to say that he was 'gettingrich out of the movement. '

"Ach, that used to make me mad--the way they lied about Karl. Thepapers used to print stories about the 'Brimstone League, ' a sort of'inner circle' connected with the International, though we all knewthere was never such a thing in existence. Karl was accused of tryingto plan murders and bloody revolutions, the very thing he hated andfeared above everything else. Always fighting those who talked thatway, he was; said they were spies and hired agents of the enemy, trying to bring the movement to ruin. Didn't he oppose Weitling andHerwegh and Bakunin on that very ground?

"I was with Karl when Lassalle visited him, in 1862, and heard what hesaid then about foolish attempts to start revolutions by the sword. Lassalle had sent a Captain Schweigert to Karl a little while beforethat with a letter, begging Karl to help the Captain raise the moneyto buy a lot of guns for an insurrection. Karl had refused to haveanything to do with the scheme, and Lassalle was mad about it. 'Yourways are too slow for me, my dear Marx, ' he said. 'Why, it'll take awhole generation to develop a political party of the proletariatstrong enough to do anything. '

"Karl smiled in that quiet way he had and said: 'Yes, it's slowenough, friend Lassalle, slow enough. But we want brains for thefoundation of our revolution--brains, not powder. We must havepatience, lots of patience. Mushrooms grow up in a night and last onlya day; oaks take a hundred years to grow, but the wood lasts athousand years. And it's oaks we want, not mushrooms. '"

"How like Marx that was, Hans, " said the Young Comrade then, "howpatient and far-seeing! And what did Lassalle think of that?"

"He never understood Karl, I think. Anyhow, Karl told me that Lassalleceased to be his friend after that meeting. There was no quarrel, youunderstand, only Lassalle realized that he and Karl were far apart intheir views. 'Lassalle is a clever man all right, ' Karl used to say, 'but he wants twelve o'clock at eleven, like an impatient child. ' Andthere's lots of folks like Lassalle in that respect, my lad; folksthat want oaks to grow in a night like mushrooms. 

"Well, I stayed in the International until the very last, after theHague Congress when it was decided to make New York the headquarters. That was a hard blow to me, lad. It looked to me as if Karl had made amistake. I felt that the International was practically killed when theGeneral Council was moved to America, and told Karl so. But he knewthat as well as I did, only he couldn't help himself. 

"'Yes, Hans, I'm afraid you're right. The International can't amountto much under the circumstances. But it had to be, Hans, it had to be. My health is very poor, and I'm about done for, so far as fighting isconcerned. I simply can't keep on fighting Bakunin and his crowd, Hans, and if I drop the fight the International will pass intoBakunin's control. And I'd rather see the organization die in Americathan live with Bakunin at the head; it's better so, better so, Hans. 'And it was then, when I heard him talk like that, and saw howold-looking he had grown in a few months, that I knew we must soonlose Karl. "

VII

"But he did not die soon--he lived more than ten years after that, Hans, " said the Young Comrade. "And ten years is a good long time. "

"Ach, ten years! But what sort of years were they? Tell me that, "demanded old Hans with trembling voice. "Ten years of sickness andmisery--ten years of perdition, that's what they were, my lad! Didn'tI see him waste away like a plant whose roots are gnawed by the worms?Didn't I see his frame shake to pieces almost when that cough tookhold of him? Aye, didn't I often think that I'd be glad to hear thathe was dead--glad for his own sake, to think that he was out of painat last?

"Yes, he lived ten years, but he was dying all the while. He must havebeen in pain pretty nearly all the time, every minute an agony! 'Oh, I'd put an end to it all, Hans, if I didn't have to finish _Capital_, 'he said to me once as we walked over Hampstead Heath, he leaning uponmy arm. 'It's Hell to suffer so, year after year, but I must finishthat book. Nothing I've ever done means so much as that to themovement, and nobody else can do it. I must live for _that_, eventhough every breath is an agony. '

"But he didn't live to finish his task, after all. It was left forEngels to put the second and third volumes in shape. A mighty goodthing it was for the movement that there was an Engels to do it, I cantell you. Nobody else could have done it. But Engels was like a twinbrother to Karl. Some of the comrades were a bit jealous sometimes, and used to call Karl and Engels the 'Siamese twins, ' but that made nodifference to anybody. If it hadn't been for Engels Karl wouldn't havelived so long as he did, and half his work would never have been done. I never got so close to the heart of Engels as I did to Karl, but Iloved him for Karl's sake, and because of the way he always stood byKarl through thick and thin. 

"I can't bear to tell about the last couple of years--how I used tofind Karl sick abed in one room and his wife, the lovely Jenny, inanother room tortured by cancer. Terrible it was, and I used to goaway from the house hoping that I might hear they were both dead andout of their misery forever. Only Engels seemed to think that Karlwould get better. He got mad as a hatter when I said one day that Karlcouldn't live. But when Jenny died Engels said to me after thefuneral, 'It's all over with Marx now, friend Fritzsche; his life isfinished, too. ' And I knew that Engels spoke the truth. 

"And then Karl died. He died sitting in his arm chair, about threeo'clock in the afternoon of the fourteenth of March, 1883. I heard thenews that evening from Engels and went over to the house inMaitland Park Road, and that night I saw him stretched out upon thebed, the old familiar smile upon his lips. I couldn't say a word toEngels or to poor Eleanor Marx--I could only press their hands insilence and fight to keep back the sobs and tears. 

[Illustration: THE MARX FAMILY GRAVE IN HIGHGATE CEMETERY. ]

"And then on the Saturday, at noon, he was buried in HighgateCemetery, in the same grave with his wife. And while Engels wasspeaking over the grave, telling what a wonderful philosopher Karlwas, my mind was wandering back over the years to Treves. Once more wewere boys playing together, or fighting because he would play withlittle Jenny von Westphalen; once more I seemed to hear Karl tellingstories in the schoolyard as in the old days. Once again it seemed asif we were back in the old town, marching through the streets shoutingout the verses Karl wrote about the old teacher, poor old Herr vonHolst. 

"And then the scene changed and I was in Bingen with my Barbara, laughing into the faces of Karl and his Jenny, and Karl was pickingthe bits of rice from his pockets and laughing at the joke, while poorJenny blushed crimson. What Engels said at the grave I couldn't tell;I didn't hear it at all, for my mind was far away. I could only thinkof the living Karl, not of the corpse they were giving back to MotherEarth. 

"It seemed to me that the scene changed again, and we were back inCologne--Karl addressing the judge and jury, defending the workingclass, I listening and applauding like mad. And then the good oldLessner took my arm and led me away. 

"Ah, lad, it was terrible, terrible, going home that afternoon andthinking of Karl lying there in the cold ground. The sun could nolonger shine for me, and even Barbara and the little grandchild, ourBarbara's little Gretchen, couldn't cheer me. Karl was a greatphilosopher, as Engels said there at the graveside, but he was agreater man, a greater comrade and friend. They talk about putting upa bronze monument somewhere to keep his memory fresh, but that wouldbe foolish. Little men's memories can be kept alive by bronzemonuments, but such men as Karl need no monuments. So long as thegreat struggle for human liberty endures Karl's name will live in thehearts of men. 

"_Aye, and in the distant ages--when the struggle is over--when happymen and women read with wondering hearts of the days of pain which weendure--then Karl's name will still be remembered. Nobody will knowthen that I, poor old Hans Fritzsche, went to school with Karl; that Iplayed with him--fought with him--loved him for nearly sixty years. But no matter; they can never know Karl as I knew him. _"

Tears ran down the old man's cheeks as he lapsed into silence oncemore, and the Young Comrade gently pressed one of the withered andknotted hands to his lips and went out into the night. 

 * * * * *