D O C . 1 4 4 O C T O B E R 1 9 1 9 1 2 1
The Americans had made large sums available; a big aid convoy is going to Po-
land with many
medications.[4]
I shall bring what you write to the attention of Bou-
vier, Romain Rolland, and Prof. Rappard, the secretary of the new
organization.[5]
I had pointed to this advance—spread—of the epidemics already 1 year ago. Spring
will decide whether we shall gain the upper hand—but one thing, the blockade,
seems to be saving most, not to mention Europe, because otherwise the infection,
that is, the carriers and infected ones, would slip through all the
cracks.[6]
It would
be entirely different if a great shipment of medications were sent out with doctors.
Yet progressive bestialization makes it unlikely that med. considerations would
govern the distribution; even supplies would become the object of the most grue-
some speculation, which dominates everything in Russia like madness—likewise
with extortion;—that is the enormity of this hydra—whose genesis is being felt
everywhere, until the insight and responsibility of individual groups of people help
the world.
Good wishes,
Zangger
Are you coming over here?
144. From Hedwig Born
[Frankfurt-am-Main,] 18 October 1919
Dear Einsteins,
Just a word of thanks for the postcard approving the Becker letter, which pleased
Max
enormously.[1]
He sends thanks through me, as he is down with influenza and
quite exhausted.—Just as great was his happiness about the familiar “Du,” which
he wouldn’t even dare to request as a permanent arrangement. For him this “Du”
equals at least 1000 calories of stove
heating.—[2]
My brilliant victory on the question of the Tree of Knowledge fills me with
proud
satisfaction;[3]
by contrast, I feel quite terribly humbled by my disgraceful
attack on knowledge in general, and very meekly admit that those grapes simply
hang too high up for poor me, the
fox.[4]
If it weren’t unrequited love, I wouldn’t
get upset when others indulge in possession. I first have to learn how to watch very
respectfully as the masters of creativity perform their intellectual climbing feats,
while I stay bowleggedly below in the valley mist. I already have a premonition that
up there the sun is always shining!–
Just now I read a book negating, surely more thoroughly than any other, all the
sciences: Das Blaubuch by
Strindberg.[5]
It again confirms my low opinion of his
wisdom, taste, and tact! Do read it! Physicists come off very badly. But not only
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