On leaving office Roosevelt went off to Africa on safari, a trip supported by Carnegie’s purse. Carnegie in turn toured Europe and met King Victor Emmanuel III of Italy, who did not pursue a pacifist role in the oncoming war. From Skibo and elsewhere Carnegie continued to press Roosevelt to meet with Kaiser Wilhelm II to promote peace – and he also persuaded him to push the peace agenda when he went to Sweden to receive the Nobel Prize for Peace (awarded 1906) for his efforts to end the Russo–Japanese War. With the help of Elihu Root (erstwhile US Secretary of State), Carnegie bombarded Roosevelt with advice on how he should deal with the Kaiser, suggesting that he should flatter him into believing that he alone could bring about world peace. He assured Roosevelt that he trusted the Kaiser and that peace was worthwhile at any price.
As time passed, though, Roosevelt went off the idea of meeting the volatile Kaiser and certainly was not enamoured of Carnegie’s peace-at-any-price position – although it was a line supported by others in America. Roosevelt was wary that what he was doing would not be agreed to by Taft’s government. Nevertheless, oiled by Carnegie’s election donation, Taft spoke out publicly on 22 March 1910 in support of Carnegie’s ‘Peace and Arbitration’ proposal.17
While in Europe Roosevelt was busy making speeches, delivering one at the Sorbonne in Paris – before meeting the Kaiser – on the legitimacy of ‘righteous wars’. Carnegie was horrified, and sent him a knuckle-rapping letter. Yet Roosevelt repeated this opinion in his acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize at Christiana (modern Oslo), although he also gave credence to the creation of the League of Peace.
In the event Roosevelt did meet the Kaiser against a background of hostile German opinion against any slackening of German rearmament and interference arbitration in the nation’s foreign policy. Although the meetings were cordial enough they achieved nothing. Carnegie was disappointed; what he did not know was that Roosevelt had spoken disparagingly of Carnegie to the Kaiser. The whole field of international diplomacy was thrown into reverse gear on Friday 6 May 1910 when King Edward VII died at Buckingham Palace. What a good idea, thought Carnegie, for Roosevelt to meet up with the Kaiser at his uncle’s funeral on 20 May in London. But it was not to be. From Skibo Carnegie reassessed the situation and came to the conclusion that he had more chance now of pursuing his peace programme through Taft; he began his manipulation plans.
During 1910 the US Congress gave President Taft the authority to set up an organisation which would form an international naval fleet to police international waters; it was to be dubbed a Peace Commission. Taft received a cable from Skibo offering support for the Commission; as usual Carnegie could not resist interfering by suggesting candidates to sit on it. When Britain’s Liberal Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Grey offered public backing for the scheme Carnegie acted. At a private dinner at the White House he put forward his idea for an endowment for international peace. Taft liked the proposal and suggested that he would promote arbitration treaties between the nations if Carnegie would sponsor an infrastructure to further international peace. This resulted in the $10 million (5 per cent Federal Mortgage Bonds) Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, launched on 10 November 1910. Ever after Carnegie claimed the whole idea was his, but as historians have pointed out the originator was really Independent editor Hamilton Holt, with input from Elihu Root and college president Nicholas Murray Butler.18 Taft became the fund’s honorary president, with Elihu Root its president supported by twenty-eight trustees. Carnegie received more praise for his benefaction, but the public at large remained puzzled as to exactly how the fund could win peace in such unruly times. Japan had just militarily annexed Korea (27 August 1910), revolution was rife in Mexico (20 November) and Kaiser Wilhelm II was busy forming new spheres of military influence.
On the domestic front the Carnegies were following their usual programme of peregrinations, taking in the ‘cure’ at Antibes, shopping in Paris, and visiting the drawing rooms of London friends, and holding ‘open house’ at their suite at the Langholm Hotel. The year 1909 was a special one for 12-year-old Margaret Carnegie as it included her first trip abroad aboard the Red Star Line’s SS Finland to the Mediterranean. It was also a time for her parents to attend to her education. Carnegie had recently invested in a New York school now opened at West 55th Street and run by Clara B. Spence. To prepare her for formal education, Margaret was tutored by one of Clara B. Spence’s teachers, Anne Brinkerhoff. When the Carnegies went to visit the 100-inch telescope on Mount Wilson, above Pasadena in California, in February 1910 Miss Brinkerhoff went too as travelling tutor. In the autumn of 1910 Margaret Carnegie entered the Spence School as a ‘fourth preparatory’; she remained at the school for seven years.19
The Carnegies were ever in the public eye; the newspapers followed Carnegie’s every project, while the more sleazy journalists were ever vigilant for anti-Carnegie gossip. To some people Carnegie was a hypocrite, an arms dealer turned pacifist, but there was never a hint of sexual scandal in his life. So those in search of titillation had to look elsewhere in Carnegie’s family tree. They found it in his niece Nancy’s marriage to a widowed family coachman, James Hever; this was a secret her mother, Carnegie’s sister-in-law Lucy Coleman, had done her best to hide from the public. Nancy had eloped with father of two James. In an attempt to head off further press speculation, Carnegie gave the couple a wedding present of $20,000 with the blessing that ‘the family would rather have such a husband for Nancy than a worthless duke’.20
While the new peace endowment handed out money to various peace societies and sponsored studies on the cause and effect of war, Carnegie was in pursuit of another goal: the US–UK arbitration treaty. Although Taft was moving towards such an agreement, Carnegie could not help interfering and plied the press with his opinions on how Taft should act. The President was both annoyed and offended; he began to realise too, that if he gave Carnegie an inch he would be encouraged to speak for America on any subject imaginable without authority, as if he were President, Congress and the Senate all rolled into one. Even so, on 29 June 1911 the US, UK and France were united in an arbitration treaty, despite opposition from such men as Theodore Roosevelt, who felt that the US was being drawn closer to a mutual defence pact. Senate wasn’t happy either, dissecting each clause in an effort to postpone ratification beyond the upcoming US election. Alas, the treaty would fail, and Carnegie’s disappointment was deepened by the fact that he had contributed $100,000 to Taft’s re-election campaign which did not bring him his usual dividend.21 In the presidential election of 1912 the White House was won by scholar, historian and reformer Democrat Woodrow Wilson, the last US President Carnegie would tackle.
In 1913 Carnegie set off for Europe to attend the dedication of the Palace of Peace at the Hague and to attend ceremonies at Berlin to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the reign of Kaiser Wilhelm II. Carnegie would present a memorial to the Kaiser signed by prominent officers of American corporations, societies and institutions to honour his long, war-free reign. The whole thing was a farce. Germany was in the throes of a huge military build-up, yet blinkered Carnegie still believed that the Kaiser was the true champion of peace in Europe. As Carnegie handed over the casket containing the memorial address, the Kaiser mendaciously commented: ‘Remember, Carnegie! Twenty-five years of peace! If I am Emperor for another twenty-five years not a shot will be fired in Europe!’22
Then it was off to the Hague to inaugurate the Peace Palace. Four hundred guests, led by Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, viewed the exhibits of gifts given by foreign countries to furnish the palace; Carnegie did his best to merge with the crowd. The following day, when busts of King Edward VII and of peace advocate Sir William Randal Cremer were being unveiled, Carnegie delivered an address of peace between the United Kingdom, the United States and Germany, and again called for a League of Peace. An exhausted Louise recalled the occasion:
Thus the great day has passed, perhaps the greatest in Andrew’s life, when he has been permitted to see inaugu
rated the permanent building which he has given wherein the great ideal for peace may be wrought – until Peace and good will may be realised upon the earth.23
Despite Carnegie’s obsession with peace, the international world was falling apart. In Mexico on 18 February 1913 President Francisco Madero was overthrown by the ruthless General Victorio Huerta; in response, US troops massed along the US–Mexican border. In Greece King George I was assassinated (18 March) and on 29 June the Second Balkan War broke out.
The new year of 1914 promised the Carnegies the usual round of travel and Carnegie made up his diary to cover visits to London and the receipt of freedoms of the city ceremonies at Lincoln and Coventry; they would head for Skibo on 6 June and in late July and early August the family would decamp to Auchnagar. Carnegie was in a good mood, seemingly unperturbed by the war clouds that had gathered over Europe. But it wouldn’t last. On 28 June at Sarajevo the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and his wife were assassinated by the Bosnian revolutionary Gabriel Princip. Backed by Kaiser Wilhelm II, the Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph considered severe retaliation and his unacceptable ultimatum to Serbia led to the Austro-Hungarian government declaring war on Serbia. With Russia likely to back Serbia (Tsar Nicholas II agreed to a general mobilisation on 30 July), the balance of power in Europe was toppled. At Auchnagar Carnegie was more concerned with the possibility of there being a British civil war over the recent compromise Irish Home Rule Bill.
On 1 August Germany declared war on Russia, France mobilised and the German government demanded a passage for its armies through Belgium to attack France; all-out war with France was declared on 3 August. Early the next day German troops entered Belgium, and Great Britain sent an ultimatum demanding that Germany respect Belgian territory and neutrality. The ultimatum was ignored and at midnight Britain declared war on Germany.
Carnegie heard the news of the outbreak of the First World War from an old family friend, the Revd Robert L. Ritchie, parish minister of Creich, who had received a confidential tipoff from London. Carnegie was stunned: how could the Kaiser, whom he deemed a peacemaker, come to this? ‘All my air-castles have fallen about me like a house of cards,’ he told Ritchie.24 Could America do anything to stop the war? On 6 August the US cruiser Tennessee sailed from New York with $5 million in gold to help US citizens trapped in Europe, and on 19 August President Woodrow Wilson urged the American people to be ‘neutral in fact as well as in name’.
On the day Britain declared war on Germany Carnegie’s friend John Morley – then Lord President of the Council – wrote to him to say that he had resigned from the Liberal administration of Prime Minister Herbert Henry Asquith. A few days after the letter was received, Morley joined the guests at Skibo, where Carnegie’s tenants and employees were already being called up for war service. Carnegie cooperated fully with the authorities and Skibo’s ‘horses, wagons, traps . . . and . . . beautiful trees’ were surrendered to the war effort.25
One more event took place at Skibo on the day war broke out: Carnegie finished his autobiography. It came to an abrupt end with the words:
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 honour 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.26
During April 1917 the United States Congress accepted President Woodrow Wilson’s challenge to ‘make the world safe for democracy’ and declared entry into the war.
At Skibo the war dominated conversation; Carnegie was sad that Morley’s resignation had brought his political career to an end, but he fully agreed with the decision to go to war. He even refused to join pacifist protesters against the war.27 Before the Carnegies returned to America on the Mauretania in mid-September 1914, Carnegie made public his feelings about the Kaiser. In it he sadly misjudged the character and motivation of Queen Victoria’s petulant grandson:
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.28
His words were taken as ‘pro-German’ and earned Carnegie some opprobrium, not least in his home town of Dunfermline.
TWENTY
THE ROAD TO SLEEPY HOLLOW
How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God.
Luke, 18:24
The voyage to America was not without its tensions. Louise’s recurrent seasickness was not helped by thoughts of German sea raiders and the possibility of the Mauretania suffering the fate of the British cruiser HMS Amphion, sunk just a few weeks earlier; the loss of the Titanic on the night of 14/15 April 1912 only heightened the tension as look-outs nervously scanned the seas for icebergs. Once back in America the Carnegies fell into their usual routine, now though age required more leisurely pursuits – social visits, walks, reading and a little golf, if only a putt or two on the lawns of the New York house. In his study Carnegie still carried on sifting through mailbags full of requests for donations and gifts. Even so he was finding it difficult to disburse his wealth as he wished; he asked his secretary how much he had left, and the sum of $150 million was revealed.1 Occasionally he ventured a view on what was happening in Europe’s theatre of war, still supporting Kaiser Wilhelm II as a reluctant pawn in the hands of the German military cadre. Carnegie also gave thought at this time to the structure of his will. Back in 1911, when the Carnegie Corporation was set on course, both Louise and daughter Margaret had agreed to relinquish all claims to the vast Carnegie fortune, so his thoughts were on others.
As he grew older – he was 79 in 1914 – Carnegie became more and more interested in his confidential list of pensioners. Separate from his great endowments and the Carnegie Corporation, this was composed of a roster of men and women selected by Carnegie to receive annual payments. Carnegie’s assistants in this matter were charged with making careful assessments of all pensioners and worthy folk: ‘My pension list is my chief joy and I want no bad names on it.’2 Many folk totally unknown to and not recognised by the public, but who had figured somewhere in the Carnegie story (however vaguely), received small pensions of up to $100 monthly, while many from politics, academe, the arts and museums – who had been stripped of their ability to earn through disability and age – received regular funds.3 To this list were added the names of Dunfermline folk, from erstwhile schoolfellows, neighbours and those down on their luck (if they remained ostensibly sober!). In this matter of local selection Carnegie depended upon his Dunfermline lawyer Sir John Ross. One recipient brought great joy to Carnegie. Since before the centenary of poet Robert Burns’s death in 1896, Carnegie had been a loyal sponsor of Burns events; for years it had been a requirement for Carnegie libraries to display a bust of the poet. Now the list of pensioners included a great-granddaughter of Robert Burns.4 Jean Armour Burns Brown resided at Dumfries and folk always said she bore an uncanny likeness to her forebear – she often dressed up as him on celebratory occasions. By the time Carnegie’s pension list was complete there were about 500 pensioners sharing some $250,000 per annum.5
Carnegie’s last public ‘performance’ was his appearance at the Industrial Commission of February 1915. This commission was set up by President Woodrow Wilson to examine the social status of American working folk, their earnings, and their involvement in trade unions, strikes and so on. Carnegie was called to appear on the subject of the distribution of ‘charity’ funds to workers and the role of trustees; this was really to winkle
out any possibility of corruption. Carnegie addressed the commission and assembled public – some none too friendly – with his usual public charm. His theme was ‘My chief business is to do as much good as I can in the world; I have retired from all other business.’6 Whether this was relevant to the commission or not was of no concern to Carnegie.
His skills as a communicator grabbed his audience; although Frank P. Walsh, the chairman and examiner at the commission, repeatedly tried to keep Carnegie to the point, the white-haired septuagenarian presented himself neither as a ‘robber baron’ (to the assorted grim-faced socialists present) nor as a ‘heartless ogre’ (to the nascent feminists whose hats bobbed above the crowd), but instead entertained his listeners with a résumé of his life and philosophy. Then came a selection of questions from Walsh. Yes, Carnegie agreed to collective bargaining (he had loved his men to call him ‘Andy’); yes, he would be delighted if the public were interested in and took part in his charitable foundations. To him such foundations were a vital part of worker development and happiness. He left the stage exhausted but delighted; he had got his message across, his audience was won over.
As February 1915 came to a close Carnegie succumbed to a heavy cold; when it developed into influenza he was bedbound for a fortnight. When he was well enough to rise, the energetic, keen and vibrant Andrew Carnegie was gone and he was enfeebled to the point that his usual routines were abandoned. He saw only close friends, wrote few letters and seldom went out. Nevertheless, whenever he could Carnegie propounded his views that President Wilson should act as arbitrator in Europe. So he was delighted when Wilson planned to send his personal adviser Colonel Edward M. House on a peace mission. Still convinced of the Kaiser’s ‘earnest desire for World Peace’, he wrote to him emphasising the advantages of American neutrality and encouraging him to support a neutrality treaty. The Kaiser was keen enough to keep the Americans out of the war, but the many American deaths caused when the British liner Lusitania was sunk without warning off the Irish coast on 7 May 1915 scuppered Carnegie’s dearest hopes for the Senate to ratify any neutrality treaty with Germany.
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