day, however, I got genuinely drunk, not with alcohol but with
indignation. It was the day of the murder of Edith Cavell. I sat
down and wrote an article --- a stained glass window
representing von Bissing as Jesus Christ, "that great-hearted,
simple-minded, trusting German". He extends his hand to her; and
says, with tears in his eyes, "Miss Cavell, I trust you!" Then
she acts the part of Judas; and I conclude with a display of
fireworks, in which she is welcomed to hell by Lucrezia Borgia
and the Marchioness de Brinvilliers and several other vampires,
whose names I have forgotten, having others closer to hand.
makes me weep for Germany when I think the Viereck published
such hideous and transparent irony without turning a hair!
Americans do not understand irony at all. But Viereck should
have done so, considering the Jewish hetaera and the wily old
robber baron in his ancestry. But are any tears salt enough to
weep for England when I think that none of my countrymen could
read my bitterness and anger between the lines of that comic
travesty of blasphemy?
— The Confessions of Aleister Crowley.
New York, NY. Hill and Wang, 1969. Page 752.