by Peter Krass
The murder of the archduke and his wife was a tragedy, the work of senseless terrorists, nothing more, and life at Skibo continued as usual. The only violence that concerned Carnegie was in Ireland, where the Protestant Irish of Ulster were threatening a civil war if Britain allowed a Free State of Ireland to annex the region. Still active in politics, Morley condemned the threats of violence, and Carnegie applauded him on his position on July 16: “You made a clear strong speech the other day. The situation seems incredible—to think of a Civil War in Britain. Surely impossible.”29 At the end of the letter, he added, “We are off to our retreat in a few minutes where we spend two or three weeks, and then return to greet coming friends, among them yourself and Lady.” The family was to spend the remainder of July and the first week of August at their Aultnagar hideaway.
Through the hot weeks of July, while the Carnegies enjoyed the cool solitude of Aultnagar, an inquisition was held in Sarajevo to determine who was behind the assassinations. At the time, it was determined the conspiracy apparently started and ended with the Black Hand, and a Viennese bureaucrat in Sarajevo agreed with the findings. Even so, the Austrian foreign minister, Count Leopold von Berchtold, strongly favored punishing Serbia by invading Belgrade, the capital. Other officials, realizing a mobilization of their troops would likely provoke Serbia’s powerful ally Russia, attempted to rein in Berchtold. But when Emperor Francis Joseph received assurances from Kaiser Wilhelm II that Germany would support Austria-Hungary, Berchtold issued the command.
Deceit, miscommunication, missed chances, and fumbled diplomacy—in short, a series of small decisions and events—created a massive, unstoppable domino effect. On July 25, Russia initiated a partial mobilization of her troops as expected; on July 28, Austria declared war on Serbia; on July 30, Czar Nicholas II agreed to a full mobilization; on July 31, France mobilized; and on August 1, the kaiser called for full mobilization when the czar refused to call his off. The unwritten law was mobilization means war; as Russia’s interior minister N. A. Maklakov said on signing the mobilization orders, “With us the war cannot be popular deep down among the masses, to whom revolutionary ideas mean more than a victory over Germany. But one cannot escape one’s fate.”30
The day the kaiser called for mobilization, the attendees of the Church Peace Union conference assembled at the Insel Hotel in Constance, Germany, on the shore of shimmering Lake Constance. At Aultnagar, Carnegie remained unaware of the sudden and grave developments on the Continent.
The British attempted to remain noncommittal; that is, until the kaiser stated his intent to invade Belgium and from there to strike at France. Now there was no choice but to intervene if neutral Belgium was violated. When word spread that Britain was about to declare war on Germany, a Carnegie family friend, Reverend Robert L. Ritchie, minister of a local parish, drove immediately to Aultnagar to inform Carnegie. The greatest champion of peace was incredulous. “It can’t be true. Are you sure it’s true?” he burst out. Then he paced, deep in thought for a few moments, before again bursting out, “Can’t America do something to stop it?” Louise, fearing he might die from the shock, attempted to console him, but he collapsed into a chair and became very distracted, unable to focus on anything about him. “All my air-castles have fallen about me like a house of cards,” he muttered.31
Notes
1. D. A. Reed to AC, October 22, 1911, ACLOC, vol. 244.
2. U.S. Steel Hearings, pp. 2351–2352.
3. “Confessions of Carnegie,” Literary Digest 44, pp. 107–108.
4. Henry Watterson to AC, January 16, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 203.
5. John A. Poynton to James Bridge, April 22, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 205.
6. AC to Alexander Peacock, April 20, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 206.
7. AC to George Lauder Jr., April 19, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 205.
8. Carnegie, Autobiography, p. 210.
9. AC to John Morley, November 7, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 210.
10. AC to Woodrow Wilson, November 6, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 210.
11. Woodrow Wilson to AC, November 19, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 210.
12. AC to James Bryce, November 12, 1912, quoted in Wall, Carnegie, p. 994.
13. James Bryce to AC, November 13, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 210.
14. AC to William Barnes, December 6, 1912, ACLOC, vol. 211.
15. AC to William H. Taft, December 15, 1912, and Philander Knox to William H. Taft, March 3, 1913, quoted in Wall, Carnegie, pp. 995–996.
16. Carnegie, Autobiography, p. 272; London Times, August 30, 1913.
17. Hendrick and Henderson, p. 181.
18. AC to John Morley, October 11, 1913, ACLOC, vol. 218.
19. AC to Woodrow Wilson, November 3, 1913, ACLOC, vol. 218.
20. AC to Woodrow Wilson, November 17, 1913, ACLOC, vol. 218.
21. AC to Woodrow Wilson, April 21, 1914, ACLOC, vol. 223.
22. AC to Woodrow Wilson, May 11, 1914, ACLOC, vol. 223.
23. AC to John Morley, July 17, 1914, ACLOC, vol. 225.
24. Wall, Carnegie, p. 1001.
25. AC to William Jennings Bryan, February 9, 1914, ACLOC, vol. 221.
26. AC to John Morley, January 25, 1914, ACLOC, vol. 220.
27. AC to John Morley, May 3, 1914, ACLOC, vol. 223.
28. S. L. A. Marshall, World War I (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1964), pp. 8, 12.
29. AC to John Morley, July 16, 1914, ACLOC, vol. 225.
30. Marshall, p. 39.
31. Hendrick, Carnegie, vol. 2, p. 345.
CHAPTER 36
The War to End All Wars
The Church Peace Union conference called it quits on Sunday, August 2nd, and accepted an invitation from the German government to take the last train out of the country bound for France, where the delegates could then board a steamer for London. It was horrifying to Carnegie as he visualized these peaceful men being swept before the armies, their lives threatened. Having rushed back to Skibo, he immediately cabled Allen Baker, the leader of the British delegation in Constance: “We shall be with you all today in spirit, and full in the faith that our cause is righteous and therefore must prevail amid many deplorable catastrophes such as the present outburst. We know that man is created with an instinct for development, and that from the first he has developed to higher and higher standards and that there is no limit to his future ascent.”1 The optimism rang hollow, however.
In the first week of August, 6 million soldiers were on the move, and the lines were distinctly drawn between two armed camps: the Central Powers of Germany, Austria-Hungary, Turkey, and Bulgaria; and the Allied Powers of Britain, France, Italy, Poland, and Russia, among others. Only the Netherlands, Switzerland, and Spain remained neutral. Belgium cast aside any hope for neutrality when Germany invaded it on August 4, the country’s landscape offering the only level path to France and thus permitting a rapid deployment of troops. Belgium’s King Albert had no intention of submitting, however, and in the battle for the strategic city of Liège, he ordered his general to “hold to the end.” It took the Germans ten days to take Liège, a critical delay as France and Britain, having declared war on Germany as of midnight, August 4, mustered their forces. “The war news is terrible and shocking,” Robert Franks cabled Carnegie’s personal secretary, John Poynton. “I do feel so sorry for Mr. C. after having peace so close to his grasp.”2 Once Britain entered the fray, Carnegie was engulfed with despair. Gutted of hope. A dried locust carcass. He suffered attacks of perplexity and dejection. He had to find a way to sustain himself or die.
Morley was also shaken and despondent. Refusing to support the war on any terms, he resigned from the cabinet the day Britain resolved to declare war, and from his Wimbledon home, he informed Carnegie and noted: “But what a black panorama!! To nobody will it seem blacker than to you. Hell in full blast.”3 Morley’s skepticism had darkened to the point of giving up hope for mankind. He abhorred the Machiavellian spirit among nations, the survival of the fittest mentality that drove countries to war, each warlike nation always wanting to
answer the ultimate question, “Can I kill thee, or canst thou kill me?” Man was too violence prone, never to be more than a base animal.
Two days after the hostilities commenced in earnest, Carnegie was relieved to hear from Frederick Lynch, an American member of the Church Peace Union delegation who had arrived safely in London. In his letter, he conveyed harrowing scenes from their escape out of Germany:
We saw all the men being taken from work and corralled at every railroad station. We saw one young man go crazy at being torn from his wife and children. We saw four foreigners shot deliberately down because they would not take arms for Germany. We saw lines of women weeping and wailing. Worst of all, we saw great crowds of young men in mad orgies of drink and war fever, howling, with wild eyes for the blood of Russians and French and Englishmen. I saw a Russian family pulled out of a train by the German soldiers and the mother so frightened that her milk stopped and the poor little baby got nothing to eat for two days. We took them along in our party and on the steamer Lady Barlow, one of our group, found a mother with a baby who offered to give the little Russian baby a drink from her breasts. The poor little thing snatched at the breast with a cry that was pathetic. . . .
It was the unanimous feeling of everyone present that we must devote our lives to it [peace] as never before. Many felt that the very fact that the world was now witnessing the collapse of the military system as the preserver of peace, the utter incapacity of the present international political order to secure justice for any nation, would reach in our favor. Never again can anyone say that armaments make for peace. . . .
I hope you have not lost courage. You must have felt heartsick and dejected as have we all. But I believe this catastrophe will witness the beginning of the end of trust in might and brute force. That trust has failed at last.4
The arrival of Lucy Carnegie on August 8 and Morley two days later brought momentary relief to an overwhelmed Carnegie. The failure of peace was his personal failure, he believed, and with it came a crushing burden. But now, if he could just talk with the vital Lucy and the logical Morley, perhaps their words alone would make the world right. Other guests who arrived that August to pay homage to the man of peace and comfort him, included the former British ambassador to the United States, Lord Bryce, the Yates-Thompsons, Sir Swire Smith, and John Ross, among others. While Morley was totally against Britain’s participation in the war, Carnegie, through conversations with his guests, realized Britain had no choice but to act. So much so that when he received an invitation from a group of British pacifists to join in denouncing Britain’s participation, Carnegie declined, and proceeded to publish his answer in the August 8 London Times: “Protest today useless. German Emperor refused Britain’s friendly invitation to peaceful conference of the Powers, signed by no less able and peaceful a statesman than Sir Edward Grey.” He referred to the German emperor, once his anointed champion of peace, as the “War Lord of Europe.”5
But he was also not convinced the kaiser was completely at fault, and rightly so. The day after German forces engaged the British at Mons, on August 22, a battle that would cost the British 4,244 casualties, a second letter from Carnegie was published in the London Times: “The German Emperor has not yet been proved guilty. I believe he has been more sinned against than sinning. Rulers are not seldom overruled and, at best, are unable to supervise wisely all the varying conditions of international quarrels. History alone will record the truth. Meanwhile the Emperor, who alone of all ruling potentates has preserved his country’s peace for twenty-six years, is at least entitled to the benefit of the doubt.”6 This went against the popular view. Now, having opened himself to severe criticism, he was accused of being pro-German, of embracing the kaiser; yet anyone who knew his loyalty to Scotland realized such charges were ridiculous. In his own way, however fanciful and illusionary, Carnegie was attempting to open a dialogue with the German emperor, hoping that his own sign of forgiveness might convince the emperor to recall his armies.
The fairyland castle of Skibo was not protected from the realities of war. The estate’s young male tenants were called into the armed forces, and the British government commandeered horses and even cut down beautiful trees for lumber because wood had become a scarce commodity. At times, Carnegie found himself weeping uncontrollably. To bolster the laird’s fragile psyche, John Ross and John Morley kept up a steady stream of correspondence. “Thanks for your notes,” Carnegie wrote Ross. “We are in perilous times. Our horses, traps &c commandeered—our territorials, ditto. All the household servants included steadily at work, sewing & knitting for the Army. It is all too sad to contemplate but we can indulge the hope that out of this eruption there is to spring the resolve to form an organization among the nations to prevent war hereafter. In this I hope our race will tell.”7
During the third week of August, the French were retreating across the entire front, building barricades, and digging entrenchments for the defense of Paris. On the eastern front, the Russians were about to overrun Prussia, so on August 25, the German command pulled two corps from France and shipped them to Prussia, saving Paris. Three days later Morley wrote: “The only days of peace and refreshment in this Trough of Despair, for me at least, have been my fortnight at Skibo. The company was both genial and understanding. The young people were most delightful. The weather was ideal. The host and hostess were almost kinder, more considerate, and more sympathetic than usual. . . . We are seeing evil war at its worst—worst in carnage, worst in its depravation of all moral sense, worst as a murderous gamble. . . . Words are in vain or worse than vain.” How strange it was to enjoy delightful Skibo, to desperately hang on to a semblance of normalcy, while men were being slaughtered in the beautiful European countryside.
As Carnegie read Morley’s declaration—“Words are in vain”—he sensed an absolute truth. As he further reflected on the madness and read over the last passages he had written for his autobiography, recounting his 1913 visit with the kaiser, the celebration of his twenty-fifth year of peace, he realized words were indeed vain:
As I read this to-day, what a change! The world convulsed by war as never before! Men slaying each other like wild beasts! I dare not relinquish all hope. In recent days I see another ruler coming forward upon the world stage, who may prove himself the immortal one. The man who vindicated his country’s honor in the Panama Canal toll dispute is now President. He has the indomitable will of genius, and true hope which we are told,
“Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.”
Nothing is impossible to genius! Watch President Wilson! He has Scotch blood in his veins.8
Carnegie never wrote another word in his autobiography. He set it aside, unfinished.
The mid-September farewells at Skibo were difficult, physically painful to face, especially when acknowledging the young men who were not there, and the hugs and tears were prolonged. At Liverpool, where the Carnegies were to take the steamer Mauretania, Morley came to see them off. Again, the scene was emotionally grim. As Morley stood on the dock, waving, both men wondered when they would see each other next and under what circumstances. Morley’s figure blended into the crowd of well-wishers as the ship pulled away.
The expanse of the Atlantic Ocean was medicinal for Carnegie. The air was clean; he could breathe again. His mind cleared, and he considered his next move. President Wilson and Kaiser Wilhelm II were the only two men with enough power to end the atrocities. In his cabin, Carnegie composed a letter to Wilson on how best to stop the conflagration that threatened to become Armageddon. As soon as he arrived at Ninety-first Street, he wrote a second letter. His plan was simple and direct: Wilson must step forward and offer to arbitrate while the warring nations honored a cease-fire. He naively expected Wilson to act as Roosevelt had during the Russo-Japanese conflict and, by sheer force of character, settle the conflict. The political situation was a bit more complicated now, however, and Roosevelt had succeeded only after Japan’s navy had crushed the Russian fleet. Still, Wilson a
ppreciated the advice from Carnegie, who did have a tremendous breadth of experience to draw upon. “I have your letter written from the Mauretania and also the little note which followed it after you reached this country. I am warmly obliged to you for lodging in my mind a suggestion which may later bear fruit.”9
Carnegie’s other present concern was America’s position vis-à-vis the war. So far it was neutral, and he wanted it to remain so. At least thousands of American boys could be saved from unnecessary deaths. Wilson and Bryan shared this view. The administration was even willing to continue to pursue a “conciliatory treaty” with Germany despite its aggression. If the kaiser were to sign such a treaty, they calculated, it might be viewed as an act of good faith that he did indeed desire peace, a pivotal first step in opening negotiations to end the war. Invigorated with renewed purpose, Carnegie, considering the pursuit of the treaty a heroic gesture, volunteered to serve as an intermediary between the State Department and the kaiser, an offer Wilson accepted. In the first week of October, Bryan forwarded to Carnegie a selection of “conciliation treaties” signed with other European nations for the kaiser to evaluate and for the two countries to use as models. “I most sincerely hope your words will have weight with him,” Bryan wrote.10 Carnegie then drafted a letter to the kaiser in support of the treaty. After Bryan reviewed and edited it, he sent it to Germany via diplomatic courier.
May it please Your Majesty:
Of your earnest desire for World Peace I am convinced. This you probably know, since I have not failed repeatedly to proclaim it here. . . . In my opinion, nothing would please or affect our people so much as your participation in the proposed treaty, thus giving additional proof of your devotion to International Peace. . . .
