Translated from: ru/1915/1915-11-10_pismo_vi_leninu_i_nk_krupskoy.txt

Dear friends!

At last I have received your letter. I was beginning to think you had completely forgotten your humble servant -- but no, it turns out you still remember me. How am I living? What am I doing? I am living rather poorly. I am doing almost nothing. And what is there to do when there is a complete or almost complete absence of serious books? As for the national question, I not only have no "scholarly works" on this subject (apart from Bauer, etc.), but I cannot even subscribe to the wretched Natsionalnye Problemy published in Moscow for lack of funds. I have many questions and themes in my head, but no material at all. My hands itch, but there is nothing to work on. You ask about my financial situation. I can tell you that in no previous exile have I lived so wretchedly as here. And why do you ask? Has some money come your way, by any chance, and are you thinking of sharing it with me? Well, go ahead! I swear by the dog, it would be most welcome. The address for money is the same as for letters, i.e., in Spandarian's name.

And how do you like Beltov's outburst about "frogs"? Is it not so: an old, senile woman babbling nonsense about things utterly beyond her comprehension!

I saw Gradov and his company in the summer. They all look a bit like wet hens. Fine "eagles," indeed!...

By the way, your letter reached me in a rather original condition: about ten lines were crossed out, about eight lines were cut out, and the letter had no more than thirty lines in all. Such are the times...

Would you send me something interesting in French or English? Even if only on the same national question. I would be very grateful.

On that I shall end.

I wish you all the very, very best.

Yours,

Dzhugashvili.

From the archive of V.D. Mochalov.