War is the multitude--and it is not! Why did I not know it since I have seen it?
Soldier of the wide world, you, the man taken haphazard from among men, remember--there was not a moment when you were yourself.

Never did you cease to be bowed under the harsh and answerless command, "It has to be, it has to be." In times of peace encircled in the law of incessant labor, in the mechanical mill or the commercial mill, slave of the tool, of the pen, of your talent, or of some other thing, you were tracked without respite from morning to evening by the daily task which allowed you only just to overcome life, and to rest only in dreams.
When the war comes that you never wanted--whatever your country and your name--the terrible fate which grips you is sharply unmasked, offensive and complicated.

The wind of condemnation has arisen.
They requisition your body.

They lay hold on you with measures of menace which are like legal arrest, from which nothing that is poor and needy can escape.

They imprison you in barracks.