Von Bissing’s Defense
It is not surprising that the secrecy, the precipitate haste and the early morning hour of the execution gave rise to many sensational reports, among others that Miss Cavell fainted on the way, and was shot to death by the commanding officer as she lay unconscious. But it seems to be certain that the execution was carried out in the usual military way and without any aggravating incident. It was, however, quite in keeping with the brutal and conscienceless procedure throughout that the place of burial was kept secret, so that none of the friends of the martyred nurse could pay even the tribute of a tear at her grave. One needs but to look at the photographed face of von Bissing, the German Governor-General of Belgium responsible for the vindictive killing of Miss Cavell, to see the outward signs of a despicable soul. The only charitable thought with which one can review his acts is that his mind was already diseased and corrupted by the illness that not long after sent him to the final accounting for his Belgian infamies which—with the exception of Germany—roused the whole world to execration.
It is worthy of note in this connection that in a talk with Mr. Karl Kitchen, a writer for the New York World, Von Bissing expressed great astonishment that an American newspaper man thought it worth while paying a visit to Brussels over “such an affair.” He was unable to understand “why the world is interested in the case. When thousands of innocent people have died in the war, why should anyone become hysterical over the death of one guilty woman?” And he admitted in the talk that the authorities had hurried on the execution not because Miss Cavell had helped fugitives to escape, but because they wanted to make her an example to awe the Belgians. He said:
“A few years in prison is not sufficient punishment for an offense of this kind. For punishment in a case of this nature is meted out to deter others from committing the same offense. If the Cavell woman had been sent to prison she would have been released in two or three years—at the end of the war. Amnesty is usually granted to all prisoners convicted of offenses of this nature, espionage, and so forth, when peace is made.
“The Cavell woman was not charged with espionage. The charge of aiding the enemy’s soldiers to escape which was made against her was sufficiently serious. Her death was deplorable—but I do not see why it should occasion such hysteria in America.”
That was von Bissing’s self-justification. Baron von der Lancken’s plea was more naïve. As the execution was purely a military affair, he, the Civil Governor, did not interfere. “It would have been a breach of etiquette if he had done so!” It counted nothing with these official exponents of Kultur that Miss Cavell had been the compassionate and skillful nurse of numbers of wounded German soldiers in the Brussels hospitals. That offered them no reason for treating her with leniency.
It was the worse for Germany that etiquette and native savagery put clemency aside in this case. As the London Times declared, “The late Miss Cavell’s death came like a trumpet call to the British nation. It showed once again the real character of the enemy this country is fighting. To the soldiers in Flanders it gave a fresh battle-cry and to civilians at home it served to re-emphasize the need of greater effort and great sacrifice. Before leaping for the trenches for a charge the soldiers shouted: ‘For Miss Cavell.’”
The King and Queen of England wrote to the aged mother of Miss Cavell expressing their sympathy with her and their horror of the deed that took her daughter from her. There was a great memorial service in St. Paul’s, the church itself and the churchyard around it being crowded by every class. The nation was thrilled. The French also made the cause their own. From Allies and neutrals the world over came messages of sympathy and indignation. Nowhere, perhaps, was the emotion deeper than in the United States. The American people were aroused in many ways. Their national dignity was offended, because their representatives had been slighted when attempting to save the Englishwoman. But this resentment counted for little as compared with the genuine wrath at an act of barbarous inhumanity to a woman.
Her name has been honored in every possible way—in sculpture, in painting, in verse, in prose, in the sermons of the clergy, in the oratory of statesmen, and after the armistice England received home her body with such ceremonies as are reserved for those who have served the country greatly. An imposing ceremony in the ancient Westminster Abbey was attended by royalty and nobility, and the throng within and without the Abbey represented every class of English life. The funeral procession, in which marched hundreds of nurses, was witnessed by vast throngs along the route, and was in itself a memorable spectacle. The body of the martyr-heroine was taken to her native town for burial, where a monument portrait of herself, in the town square, will perpetuate to the eye a memory that will never perish from the English heart.