e milking
begins; blood flows, money flows, and no one is in a hurry to stop the
flow. A few thousands of privileged persons, belonging to all castes and
all nations, a few thousands, men of family, parvenus, junkers,
ironmasters, syndicated speculators, army contractors, untitled and
irresponsible kings--hidden in the wings, surrounded by and nourishing a
swarm of parasites--are able, for the sordid motive of gain, to turn to
their own account the best and the worst instincts of mankind. They
profit by human ambition and by human pride; by men's grudges and men's
hates. They draw equal gains from the bloodthirsty imaginings and from
the courage of their fellow-mortals; from the thirst for self-sacrifice,
from the heroism which makes men eager to spill their own blood, from
the inexhaustible wealth of faith!...

Unhappy peoples! Is it possible to imagine a more tragical destiny than
theirs? Never consulted, always immolated, thrust into war, forced into
crimes which they have never wished to commit. Any chance adventurer or
braggart arrogantly claims the right to cloak with the name of the
people the follies of his murderous rhetoric or the sordid interests he
wishes to satisfy. The masses are everlastingly duped, everlastingly
martyred; they pay for others' misdeeds. Above their heads are exchanged
challenges for causes of which they know nothing and for stakes which
are of no interest to them. Across their backs, bleeding and bowed,
takes place the struggle of ideas and of millions, while they themselves
have no more share in the former than in the latter. For their part,
they do not hate. They are the sacrifice; and those only hate who have
ordered the sacrifice. Peoples poisoned by lies, by the press, by
alcohol, and by harlots. Toiling masses, who must now unlearn the lesson
of labour. Generous-hearted masses, who must now unlearn the lesson of
brotherly love. Masses deliberately demoralised, given over to
corruption while still alive, slain. Beloved peoples of Europe, dying
for the last two years on your dying land. Have you at length plumbed
the depths of woe? Alas, the worst is yet to come. After so much
anguish, I dread the fatal day when, no longer buoyed by false hopes,
realising the fruitlessness of their sacrifices, the masses, worn out
with misery, will blindly wreak their vengeance where they may. They,
likewise, will then fall into injustice, and through a surfeit of
misfortune they will forfeit even the