4 7 6 D O C U M E N T 4 7 8 A P R I L 1 9 2 5
importuning me most with their love. I was able to be very nicely effective for the
Zionists.[5]
The cause is powerfully gaining ground here, too. Just now I’m back
from a small reception by the Sephardi Jews in their temple, which was so beautiful
that I had to
cry.[6]
Hardly a word was spoken throughout—strange.
I’m being called away. More another time. But this letter must go out, because I
don’t know when I’ll be getting around to writing again. I’m glad to be rid of the
manuscript now and thank you for the labor of love; better this way than burned or
sold.[7]
Especially the latter would have been undignified.
Best regards to the grandparents, to all of you, and to
Rudilse[8]
from your
Albert.
478. To Elsa and Margot Einstein
Montevideo, 27 April 1925
My Dears,
Now I’ve been here in Montevideo, a beautifully situated harbor city, for half a
week already. It is much pleasanter here than in Buenos A[ires]. The city is smaller,
more prettily laid out. I am living with a Russian Jew who can only speak Yiddish
and
Spanish.[1]
I’m being overwhelmed with so many honors, but in such a trusting
way, that I can hardly catch my breath anymore. This is supposed to continue for
the whole week. The
ship[2]
to Rio leaves on Saturday May 2, and on the 12th from
there to Hamburg. Today I have to go to the foreign minister and the president be-
fore the lecture, whereas this morning the president of the senate toured around
with me for two
hours.[3]
Over here the German colony is behaving more politely,
after the one in B[uenos] A[ires] seriously lost face by its decision to ignore
me.[4]
But that just means one more burden for me. Yesterday the mayor drove me around
and showed me the hotels that the city itself has
built.[5]
There they play roulette à
la Monte Carlo with much success. This little country is dripping with riches. It has
suddenly become so cold that one is reminded of Europe. Later comes the hotter
Rio, which has a completely tropical climate. I’ve been pampered here as virtually
never before in my life, but my brain feels as if it’s been stirred with a ladle, so it
seems hard to think of it ever being of use for anything reasonable again. But I do
still hope so. It perhaps is better, after all, that you aren’t here with me, dear
Margot,[6]
because such a long time full of social engagements would have gotten
on your nerves a lot, even more than for me.
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