fair-minded peoples; and in passing it may be remarked that civilized
communities have an inherent regard for justice, even when it operates
to their own immediate disadvantage. It would be a sorry world if it
were otherwise; how sorry a few nations who consigned their honour to
the melting-pot can make it, we know only too well. It would be sorrier
still but for the firm conviction that in the end right will triumph
over might, justice will prevail over injustice, encouraging us to look
forward to the time when 'Civilization smiles; Liberty is glad; Humanity
rejoices; and Pity exults.'
When the welter of blood and the ruinous dissipation of treasure is at
an end, and we can appraise our tangible losses in life and money and
endeavour to form some conception of the moral gains resulting from the
conflict, amid the innumerable individual deeds that make us proud of
those of our race the heroism in life and death of Edith Cavell will
shine forth like a precious jewel.
It is well to remember that 'of every tear that sorrowing mortals shed,
some good is born, some gentler nature comes'; and in her death and the
tears that we shed for it, the martyr leaves behind her an inestimable
legacy that will yield rich dividends to humanize the souls of those who
are left behind to admire and reverence the example of a noble woman.
* * * * *
When the foregoing paragraph was written, one's faith in the strength of
our Empire and belief in the righteousness of our cause justified the
sure knowledge that we had not witnessed the real conclusion of this
pathetic soul-rending incident, that was without exact parallel in our
varied Empire story; but one could only wait--and wonder.
For three further searing years the war continued its desolating course,
that entailed the death and mangling of millions of the combatants and
the expenditure of uncountable wealth.
The end came with dramatic suddenness that almost paralysed the
suffering nations, who could scarcely realize that intense courage,
energy, and determination had at length given the Allies the victory.
Even while the Germans stood at the bar of justice at the Peace
Conference, Mother Empire decided the time had arrived to take Edith
Cavell to her own broad bosom; and the dust of one of the most gallant
women of our race was brought from Belgium to be reinterred under the
shadow of Norwich Cathedral, in the county that must ever be proud that
it gave her birth.
From Dover the body of Nurse Cavell came through Kent towards the
capital; the orchards were in full blossom, the fields golden with
buttercups, every bank blue and white with wild flowers, as if England
had put on her richest garment to receive her own.
From Victoria Station the funeral _cortege_ passed into the streets
amid the wonderful stillness and silence of vast crowds, a tribute of
silence that acclaimed the dead no less surely and splendidly than the
living heroes of the war had been welcomed home by the heartfelt cheers
of the multitude.
To the roll of the drums, the stately tread of escorting Coldstreamers,
the beautiful melody of funeral marches by the Scots and Welsh Guards'
bands, the gun-carriage and its honoured burden came to Westminster
Abbey, where, in the shadows of the dim old church, the first portion of
the funeral ceremony was to be performed.
A great congregation, representing all classes of society, had
assembled, and the nursing profession and the various branches of the
women's military services were largely in evidence. For fully half an
hour the waiting gathering listened enraptured to entrancing and
uplifting music of the Grenadier Guards' band.
The last notes died away. Suddenly the assembly rose as Queen Alexandra
was ushered to her seat. With her was Princess Victoria; and the King
was represented by the Earl of Athlone.
A few moments later the strains of Chopin's funeral march could be heard
outside the Abbey, betokening the arrival of the _cortege_; and then
beautiful voices echoed and re-echoed through aisle and transept as the
choir met the coffin, which progressed slowly from the great west door
towards the catafalque that waited to receive its noble burden. Tall
Guardsmen bore shoulder high the coffin, covered with the Union Jack,
which Edith Cavell had honoured with her life. To rest upon the glorious
colours Queen Alexandra had sent a magnificent wreath of red and white
carnations and arum lilies, to which an autograph card was attached upon
which she had written:
In memory of our brave, heroic, never-to-be-forgotten Nurse Cavell.
Life's race well run,
Life's work well done,
Life's crown well won,
Now comes rest.
From ALEXANDRA.
The service was marked by severe simplicity that savoured nothing of
exultation over a fallen foe; and yet there was the beautiful exultation
that belongs essentially to the Church of England Order for the Burial
of the Dead, which proceeded with tense emotion until the congregation
and choir united in singing 'Abide with me.' The Dean pronounced the
blessing.
The Dead March from _Saul_ was played with all the poignant appeal of
rolling and booming drums, wailing reeds, and the triumphant clangour of
brass. The 'Last Post,' heralded by a roll of drums, commencing so
softly as scarcely to be audible, swelled to a roar before it died into
the silence, on which broke the bugles; and last the 'Reveille.'
Out of the shadows of the centuries into the sunlit street the
flower-decked coffin was borne by the eight Guardsmen bearers to be
replaced on the gun-carriage, which passed through the crowded City to
Liverpool Street Station, _en route_ for Norwich, and every yard of the
way there was evidence that the spirit of Edith Cavell was living in
the throngs who mourned her loss, even as they honoured her sacrifice.
Later in the day came the final scenes in the obsequies of Edith Cavell
at Norwich Cathedral, where the ashes of the world-famous victim of an
unchivalrous foe had come home for sepulture in an atmosphere of
intimate and almost personal concern. The citizens turned out in tens of
thousands. Every department of the civic life of the county was
represented, but again the nurses were in the forefront of the picture.
Wreaths came from near and far, and among not a few from Belgium was one
inscribed 'Elizabeth, Reine des Belges.'
The tribute of Empire had already been paid in London, and the closing
ceremony was more in keeping with the sweet simplicity of her who was
being laid to rest by the side of her mother amid the peaceful and
mellow surroundings of the ancient Close, in a sequestered little corner
called 'Life's Green.'
At the graveside the Bishop of Norwich delivered a touching address, in
which he dwelt more upon the manner of Nurse Cavell's death rather than
the work of her life. In conclusion he said:
'Edith Cavell rests under the shade of our cathedral in its
eight-hundredth year, adding one more to the long line of those
blessed saints of God over whom it has watched in life and death. We
will think of her while her body rests in its keeping as herself
alive unto God and present with the Lord, and we will look on to the
glad day when she and we and all we love, having waited and watched
for the glory of the Resurrection, at last shall see
The splendour of the morning
Dawn on the hills.'
* * * * *
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