Did not Field Marshal von der Goltz issue a proclamation in Brussels, on October 5th, stating that, if any individual disturbed the telegraphic or railway communications, all the inhabitants would be "punished without pity, the innocent suffering with the guilty"?
Individual guilt being thus a matter of minor importance, Dr. Zimmermann had no occasion on the accepted theory of Prussian militarism to justify the secret trial and midnight execution of Edith Cavell. Indeed, he freely intimates that his Government will not spare women, no matter how high and noble the motive may have been which inspires any infraction of military law, and to this sweeping statement he makes but one exception, namely, that women "in a delicate condition may not be executed." But why the exception? If it be permitted to destroy one life for the welfare of the military administration of Belgium, why stop at two? If the innocent living are to be sacrificed, why spare the unborn? The exception itself shows that the rigor of military law must have some limitation, and that its iron rigor must be softened by a discretion dictated by such considerations of chivalry and magnanimity as have hitherto been observed by all civilized nations. If the victim of yesterday had been an "expectant mother," Dr. Zimmermann suggests that her judges and executioners would have spared her, but no such exception can be found in the Prussian military code. "It is not so nominated in the bond," and the Under Secretary's recognition of one exception, based upon considerations of humanity and not the letter of the military code, destroys the whole fabric of his case, for it clearly shows that there was a power of discretion which von Bissing could have exercised, if he had so elected.
That her case had its claims not only to magnanimity, but even to military justice, is shown by the haste with which, in the teeth of every protest, the unfortunate woman was hurried to her end. Sentenced at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, she was executed nine hours later. Of what was General Baron von Bissing afraid? She was in his custody. Her power to help her country—save by dying—was forever at an end. The hot haste of her execution and the duplicity and secrecy which attended it betray an unmistakable fear that if her life had been spared until the world could have known of her death sentence, public opinion would have prevented this cruel and cowardly deed. The labored apology of Dr. Zimmermann and the swift action of the Kaiser in pardoning those who were condemned with Miss Cavell indicate that the Prussian officials have heard the beating of the wings of those avenging angels of history who, like the Eumenides of classic mythology, are the avengers of the innocent and the oppressed.
"Greatness," wrote Aeschylus, "is no defense from utter destruction when a man insolently spurns the mighty altar of justice."
This is as true to-day as when it was written more than two thousand years ago. It is but a classic echo of the old Hebraic moral axiom that "the Lord God of recompenses shall surely requite."
The most powerful and self-willed ruler of modern times learned this lesson to his cost. Probably no two instances contributed so powerfully to the ultimate downfall of Napoleon as his ruthless assassination under the forms of military law of the Duke d'Enghien and the equally brutal murder of the German bookseller, Palm. The one aroused the undying enmity of Russia, and the blood that was shed in the moat of Vincennes was washed out in the icy waters of the Beresina. The fate of the poor German bookseller, whom Napoleon caused to be shot because his writing menaced the security of French occupation, developed as no other event the dormant spirit of German nationality, and the Nuremberg bookseller, shot precisely as was Miss Cavell, was finally avenged when Blücher gave Napoleon the coup de grâce at Waterloo. No one more clearly felt the invisible presence of his Nemesis than did Napoleon. All his life, and even in his confinement at St. Helena, he was ceaselessly attempting to justify to the moral conscience of the world his ruthless assassination of the last Prince of the house of Condé. The terrible judgment of history was never better expressed than by Lamartine in the following language:
"A cold curiosity carries the visitor to the battlefields of Marengo, Austerlitz, Wagram, Leipsic, Waterloo; he wanders over them with dry eyes, but one is shown at a corner of the wall near the foundations of Vincennes, at the bottom of a ditch, a spot covered with nettles and weeds. He says, 'There it is!' He utters a cry and carries away with him undying pity for the victim and an implacable resentment against the assassin. This resentment is vengeance for the past and a lesson for the future. Let the ambitious, whether soldiers, tribunes, or kings, remember that if they have hirelings to do their will, and flatterers to excuse them while they reign, there yet comes afterward a human conscience to judge them and pity to hate them. The murderer has but one hour; the victim has eternity."
At the outbreak of the war Miss Cavell was living with her aged mother in England. Constrained by a noble and imperious sense of duty, she exchanged the security of her native country for her post of danger in Brussels. "My duty is there," she said simply.
She reached Brussels in August, 1914, and at once commenced her humanitarian work. When the German army entered the gates of Brussels, she called upon Governor von Luttwitz and placed her staff of nurses at the services of the wounded under whatever flag they had fought. The services which she and her staff of nurses rendered many a wounded and dying German should have earned for her the generous consideration of the invader.
But early in these ministrations of mercy she was obliged by the noblest of humanitarian motives to antagonize the German invaders. Governor von Luttwitz demanded of her that all nurses should give formal undertakings, when treating wounded French or Belgian soldiers, to act as jailers to their patients, but Miss Cavell answered this unreasonable demand by simply saying: "We are prepared to do all that we can to help wounded soldiers to recover, but to be their jailers—never."