D O C . 9 7 A U G U S T 1 9 1 9 7 9
I can hardly start the associated experimental research in a penniless and disrupt-
ed
laboratory.[7]
But all that will be straightened out.
In assuring you of my admiration, both intellectual and moral, I am, in friend-
ship,
Jean Perrin
Professor of Physical Chemistry, Sorbonne, Paris
I am sending you these two publications. Please excuse the scribblings found on
the second; I did not have any others left.
97. To Hedwig Born
[Berlin,] Sunday. [31 August 1919]
Dear Mrs. Born,
I have a completely miserable conscience toward both of you, quite particularly
you, because I so rarely get down to writing. So that I don’t forget, first of all, I shall
be glad to try to wangle funds from the K.W. Institute for your husband, if it’s pos-
sible—when we have something to give out
again.—[1]
I will certainly look you up
one day soon in your cozy
nest,[2]
if you aren’t already putting up some other un-
welcome guest, just wait and see! The guess about Oppenheim is wrong; my Acad-
emy pay is connected not with his purse but with Mr. Koppel’s. I didn’t know at all
that your husband’s chair is endowed by O., I only know about the observatory over
there.[3]
The relations between Oppenheim (junior) (I saw senior only one time)
and us is of a purely private nature and is connected with the junior Mr. O.’s philo-
sophical
hobby-horse.[4]
There is just one problem, in that I promised to stay not
only with you but also with Mr. O., Junior, when I do come to Frankfurt; the solu-
tion to that is beyond my competence—it will solve itself somehow. That’s not
nearly as malicious as Althoff’s retort to someone to whom he had promised a pro-
fessorship but appointed someone else. He cheerfully and brashly said: “Well, do
you really think you were the only one I had promised the professorship
to?!”[5]

Yesterday Stern was visiting me. He’s enthusiastic about Frankfurt and the
institute.[6]
I rather liked “Crime and Crime,” although Strindberg’s “A Dream
Play” was incomparably
better.[7]
Mr. Bieberbach’s love and esteem for himself and his muse was
priceless.[8]
May God preserve him, for there’s no better way to live. In the old days, when peo-
ple lived their lives in greater isolation, such originals among the univ. professors
were virtually the rule, because they never dealt personally with anyone who was
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