Kalckreuthstr. SI, Berlin W.
January 23, 1910.My dear Miss Turner,
This afternoon Miss Smith has been discussing a little scheme with me, and we have decided that, strangers as we are, comparatively, I had best write to you directly. As an honorary member of 1909 I have had more chance, perhaps, to know of you than you have of me, a girl neither prominent at college, nor specializing in Biology. And this year I have heard more directly of you and your work than before, through Miss Smith. You know people abroad are inclined to share news about common friends, so I have heard a little about your work at Harvard, the Medical-School vs. Radcliffe jealousy, and even about the dogs. Among other things I hear of your desire to go on next year with work toward the doctor's degree and the difficulties in the way.
Now it happens that I am an idle girl, of no particular use in the world personally, and rather oppressed with the sense of uselessness. For a while longer I must be apart from active work, if I am to be ready for it later. In the mean time, it would give me real pleasure, satisfaction, to feel that in some way, if only by proxy, I can help do something, and it happens I have a quantity of idle sheckels lying in a savings bank out west which I would rather have out at a more human kind of interest. They are my only talents, and I want to see them increase in some more vital way.
Will you pardon me if I seem rather blunt? I would be more than glad to supply what is needed to keep you at Harvard next year, and hope that you will be willing to let me. I know that you would probably be unable to return any loan for some time to come, and to speak frankly that makes not the slightest difference to me.
The condition I prefer is this; - that at any later time when you feel free and in a position to do so, you will help someone else along in studying, someone in earnest and doing good work, and who otherwise could not go on in her studies. If this condition seems too vague, and impossible to accept, (for Miss Smith warns me you will like to be definite) will you name your own? It must be at least one that, considering all the conditions you have to meet, will not involve any too great strain.
As to amount, that will depend on whether or not you get the fellowship, I suppose, and you can tell better than I what is needed to leave you free for effective work. I will suggest a minimum of six hundred, and would be quite as willing to make it a thousand, or even more, though from what Miss Smith says, that will probably be enough at most.
My permanent address abroad is 250 Rue de Rivoli, Paris, and if you decide to allow me this little interest in what you are doing, I would be glad to know when and where to send the money, and how much you will want.
There is just one thing more. I would rather not have people at college know or find out about this. There are few of them who would understand. Could you speak of me, then, only as an interested "class-mate", (to borrow Miss Woolley's phrase in announcing the gift of her portrait.)
This evening Miss Smith and I have been down to the Garrison Church to hear "Der Messias." We were under a gallery where the sound was much cut off, the seats were evidently made for tall stiff soldiers instead of small people like ourselves, who could reach neither the floor nor the foot-rests. From Miss S's frivolous remark that she felt like knocking off the rail in front of us a row of men's hats placed temptingly along, - I judge she did not take all of it seriously. But some of it was very enjoyable. On the whole we think the English words are more expressive, and significant, as well as more musical. In a few places I see in the German more ideas, or words better fitted to the music, than in English.
We hear Esther has been waiting near Boston. I hoped to find in a letter about college that I received this morning from Mary Jenness, - some word of how Esther is now, but there wasn't a hint. At least I hope that since she is back at college, no news will prove good news of her in the end.
My neighbor snores, and reminds me it is late enough to stop.
Cordially yours,
Dorothy C. Rowell.Address, 250 Rue de Rivoli, Paris.