Dear Friend,
I haven’t heard from you for a long time.
I suppose you don’t feel like working on the translation of the leaflet into English? In that case, drop it: I’ll send it as it is to Paris, maybe they’ll find some Englishman there.
All the very best,
Yours,
Lenin
I woke up in Smolensk at half past nine. It was cold, bright and windy. I spent my time reading a book about the conquest of Gaul by Julius Ceasar. I arrived in Mogilev at three o'clock. General Alexeev welcomed me. I spent an hour at the headquarters. The house feels empty without Alexei.
Something is awry! Large-scale rioting happened on the Vyborg side due to bread difficulties (it is surprising that this has not happened earlier!).
There have been disturbances today. Of course, nobody knows anything for sure. Tramcars have been stopped in some places (and smashed). it seems a policeman was killed. If everything calms down again tomorrow and we start to put up with things once again - in typical Russian fashion, dully, unthinkingly and silently - then it will not make the slightest bit of difference in the future.
We rioted without dignity and will succumb without dignity. But the attempts to “thwart” us will be just as feeble as our rioting. Which of these two feeble forces will be victorious?
My poor country. Come to your senses!
Some kind of curse seems to hang over the Russian soul: as soon as one of our number is given authority, he immediately imagines himself to be a “servant of the Tsar”, and in such a way feels justified in making his presence felt as strongly as possible by those under him. What is worse, this tendency is observed even among highly educated individuals in the pedagogical and religious communities. This passion for lording it over our inferiors is sadistic!
I saw a crowd gathering on the Anichkov Bridge. Judging by their short coats and heavy boots they seemed to be mainly workers.
A woman with a very stupid expression, completely failing to understand the general atmosphere, called on the crowd to “beat the yids”. See more
TanyaTatiana Sukhotina-Tolstaya — writer, the eldest daughter of Leo Tolstoy. had been in Tula and was in low spirits when she returned: there was talk of revolution, there was nothing to buy; no bread, no kerosene and shops were closing down.
Ah my love, how sad its without you – how lonely, how I yearn for your love and kisses, priceless treasure, think of you without end.
With the fatality that dogged his footsteps the Emperor, who had spent the months of January and February at Tsarskoe, feeling that he could no longer absent himself from Headquarters, had returned to Mohileff — more than twenty hours distant by train — on Thursday, March 8. Had he remained at Tsarskoe a few days longer, within reach of those who could have kept him accurately informed of the development of events in the capital, he would have been better able to appreciate the extreme gravity of the situation.
Next day, while my housekeeper was checking the silver, glass and linen, as she always did after large parties, Vova burst in and told me that a huge crowd was pouring out of Great Dvorianskaia Street. This was the beginning of what everybody had been afraid of: street demonstrations.