Anne Morrow Lindbergh: Her Life

by Susan Hertog

  (Culver Pictures)

  EVEN—1

  Him that I love

  I wish to be free—

  Even from me.

  —ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH

  APRIL 1938, ILLIEC, FRANCE

  There is your island!” said Madame Carrel, pointing into the mist. Her eyes squinting against the cool April rain, Anne took the sighting on faith. No matter how hard she peered toward the open sea, Anne could not discern the shore.2

  With their baby in a basket in the cockpit, Anne and Charles had landed in a field on the mainland. The Carrels, who had met them, drove to the coast of Brittany near Mont-Saint-Michel, and now, at high tide, they crossed by motorboat and moored on the cratered beach. When they climbed the pebbled spit of rocks toward a stone tower, a nineteenth-century manor house rose up to meet them. The wild beauty of the “galloping tides” and rocky coastline heightened the majesty of its imposing structure, and the gray light of the stormy sky bathed the rugged “gorse-covered” land with an air of medieval romance.3

  Unfortunately, the house was dreadful inside, with no heat or plumbing or electricity. Built in the 1860s by the French composer Ambroise Thomas, it still had the look of an elegant mansion, but now it was in total disrepair.4 Anne’s mind was filled with possibilities as she walked the dark halls and surveyed the sparsely furnished rooms.5

  Their decision to buy the island was spurred by both desire and desperation. When they returned from America in the dead of winter in 1938, the complacency of England was chilling. It was a land, they believe, at war with itself and steeped in self-delusion; they felt alienated from English society and politics.6 But in part, the Rockefeller Institute had given them no choice. The board of directors had decided to discontinue its support of further collaboration by Charles and Carrel.7 In early June 1937, in a sudden change of policy, the board had declared a mandatory retirement age of sixty-five, with a specific notice that those members reaching the age of sixty-four or over on July 1 of that year would be retired on July 1, 1939.8 The date was just three days after Carrel’s birthday, and he was the only member who would turn sixty-four in 1937. The decision seemed less than coincidental. Other members of the institute had been permitted to carry on with their work well into their late sixties and early seventies.

  The institute could no longer tolerate Carrel’s vision of a social order determined by eugenics. To have as a member of its staff a radical ideologue was unacceptable to an institution dedicated to objective inquiry. Furthermore, the presence of Charles, an unqualified layman, diminished the standards of their institution.9

  Carrel, in retribution, sought to expose the institute as a “Jewish operation.” He tried to intimidate the board by saying the institute was run by Jews who intended to replace him with one of their own.10 But the board was implacable, and Carrel and Charles left. Carrel, certain that he would find sympathetic colleagues in Germany and Italy, wrote to a friend that he would train doctors in both Padua and in Berlin.11

  When Anne and Charles prepared for their move, they found themselves embroiled in English politics. The Astors now counted them among their own and again invited them to dine. Charles, who had found his views confirmed during his second trip to Germany, was eager to take a political stand. Anne, however, was put off by the Astors’ anti-Churchill, pro-German friends. She claimed she was too stupid to understand the wisdom of the intellectual elite,12 but Charles “shock[ed] the life out of everyone” with his views on Germany.

  Slowly, Anne came to believe that Charles was right. At a dinner at Cliveden on May 1, Anne summoned up the courage to tell Lord Astor, the perfect gentleman and host, that she and Charles agreed with his views. Accommodating Germany was the only hope of keeping peace.13

  The next day, the Lindberghs and the Nicolsons conferred at Sissinghurst on the implications of the impending crisis between Germany and Czechoslovakia. Charles bombarded Nicolson with facts, noted Anne,14 but Nicolson had impressions of his own:

  Lindbergh is most pessimistic. He says we cannot possibly fight since we would surely be beaten. The German Air Force is ten times superior to that of Russia, France and Great Britain put together. Our defences are simply futile and the barrage-balloons a mere waste of money. He thinks we should give way and then make an alliance with Germany. To a certain extent his views can be discounted a) because he naturally believes aeroplanes will be the determinant factor in war; and b) because he believes in the Nazi theology, all tied up with his hatred of democracy as represented by the free press and the American public. But even when one makes these discounts, the fact remains that he is probably right in saying that we are outmastered in the air.15

  Nicolson may have exaggerated; he did not fabricate. Clearly, Charles saw the Third Reich as the embodiment of his values: science and technology harnessed for the preservation of a superior race, physically able and morally pure. While Charles valued democracy in the abstract, he had come to believe that its freedoms were not worth the price. Social and political equality, together with an ungoverned press, had produced a climate of moral degeneracy that had permitted the murder of his infant son. He did not disdain democracy so much as he did the common man—the uneducated and enfeebled masses, typified by Hauptmann, who lived like parasites on the body politic. America wallowed in decadence, the Russians sank into mediocrity, and England and France, at war with themselves, were weak, aimless, and morally defunct. To Charles, Germany under Hitler was a nation of true manhood—virility and purpose. The strong central leadership of a fascist state was the only hope for restoring a moral world order.

  While Charles spoke his mind behind closed doors, Carrel publicly asserted his contempt. Democracy, he said, was an outright failure, incommensurate with the laws of nature. Human beings were not equal, and to build a system on such an ideology was to court failure. Eugenics and the government of the elite were the means for maintaining civilized life.16

  At last, Charles had found a master, someone erudite and capable, whose courage to defy public opinion exceeded his own. If Charles had his master, so too did Anne. From the moment they moved to Illiec, on June 20, 1938, Alexis Carrel took over their lives. And for the first time, Charles willingly relinquished the reins. Everything from what the Lindbergh children ate and wore to how they slept and spent their days was submitted for the approval of Dr. Carrel.17 A strong advocate of breast feeding and a staunch believer in the duty of women to care for their young,18 Carrel deepened Anne’s sense of inadequacy and guilt. She tried to obey his wishes and was constantly on the verge of collapse. Her head ached, her nerves were frayed, and she desperately longed for a place to rest. Although the wild beauty of the island and the sea had held the promise of new adventure, now even Jon seemed lost and lonely. Only Charles was pleased.19

  As Charles trudged along the sand bars between home and laboratory, pondering the mysteries of life, Anne drowned in domestic chaos. The four members of her staff were under the eye of Dr. Carrel, and they rose in rebellion against his rules of childrearing.20

  The same week the Lindberghs arrived in Illiec, President Roosevelt had sponsored a conference, in the French mountain resort of Evian, to discuss the immigration of the Jews. The United States promised to accept 27,370 from Germany and Austria; Britain refused to accept any. Australia declared, “As we have no real racial problem, we are not desirous of importing one.”21 New Zealand said the same; Canada, Colombia, Uruguay, and Venezuela agreed to accept only farmers. Nicaragua, Honduras, Costa Rica, and Panama jointly announced that they would not accept political insurgents or intellectuals. Argentina and France said they had reached saturation. Only Denmark and the Netherlands responded to the plight of the Jews and agreed to open their borders without qualification.

  When she heard of the projected immigration of Jews, Kay Smith articulated the sentiments of 70 to 85 percent of the American public:22 “At a time when we have some twelve million unemployed and the number steadily mounting and a huge debt, this course is nothin
g short of suicide.” And, Kay continued, in a voice that expressed the extreme of xenophobia:

  I am beginning to think Hitler is right: a Jew is first of all a Jew and a national only when his interests are not involved. Certainly the Jews in America, where we have given them everything, now that the test has come, are proving themselves Jews and not Americans. Their constant agitation against those European nations which have discriminated against their race, the pressure they constantly put on Washington to protest, to get their relatives out of the countries and into America is done entirely without regard to our best interests.23

  What were the best interests of America? The question became a national obsession. Intent on finding the answer in aviation, Charles resolved to study European military air power firsthand. At his request, Roosevelt gave him permission to fly to Russia, Czechoslovakia, and France.24

  When Charles asked Anne to go with him, she was torn again by her desire to stay with Jon and Land. But her fear of alienating Charles, along with her delight in the beauty and freedom of flying, prevailed.25 As they flew over the English Channel, Anne reveled in the sight of the “satin sea” and in the landscape rushing below.26 While they were waiting in London for permission to fly to Russia, Berlin announced the conscription of 750,000 men.27 Anne feared for the British but felt contempt for their blindness. Why had they left themselves so vulnerable?28

  On August 17, 1938, the Lindberghs flew to Moscow across Germany and Poland on a route laid out by Russian officials; they were able to avoid fortified zones. As the ground crews awaited their craft, squadrons of bright red pursuit planes circled in mock battle, entertaining the half million Russians who had flooded the city for the event. It was dusk before the Lindberghs’ monoplane circled the field in Moscow, illuminated only by ordinary searchlights. Adjacent to the field, a captive balloon, high above the trees, supported a portrait of the commissar of war.29

  The next day, Anne and Charles drove out to the countryside to meet “the people.”30 Anne had already accepted the views of the Carrels. To question them would have been tantamount to questioning Charles and taking a moral stand alone. The risk was too great. Instead, using her newly acquired standards, Anne judged the people they saw. She decided there were five Russian types: the stupid, the fanatical, the clever, the shallow, and the criminal. Using the Carrels’ criteria, which had once dismayed her, she sorted the Russian population into these identifiable types, as though she could discern the quality of a human being by the length or shape of a nose or the refinement of a cheekbone.31 While the government had built new official structures, wide boulevards, and underground trains, the life of the people on the street seemed impoverished. Their colorless lives and vacant faces seemed proof to Anne that they had sacrificed their spirit to the ideal of material progress.

  Anne’s impressions of life in Russia were not far from the truth. Living conditions had deteriorated so far that an air of apathy pervaded the country. Besides the terror of Stalin’s purges, which had left the Russian people whispering inside their homes, the inefficiency of an economy and a labor force unable to keep pace with world industrialization had, by 1938, left the people wholly demoralized.

  The malaise, however, had not affected those involved in aviation. Anne met three women fliers with “intelligent, healthy faces.” She marveled that these professional women, whose attitudes and demeanor matched those of their male colleagues, were married and had children.32 Unlike the British and the Germans, the Russians applauded the modern woman.33 But a trip to the government-run nurseries for working women reversed her admiration. The freedom of the women to work had its price; the children were malnourished and neglected.34 Although Anne felt more kinship with the Russians than with the Germans, she wondered how one could admire a system that accepted mediocrity.35

  The professionalism and high morale of the aviation community, however, could not compensate, in Charles’s judgment, for the mediocrity of the planes. Intent on impressing Charles, the Russian government put on an air show and guided him through their bases and factories. Charles remained unimpressed. What he saw, he said, was clearly inferior to German and English aircraft, though it was good enough for military combat.

  After a visit to the countryside for a holiday, Anne could not wait to leave the “swarming” hordes.36 Even the state dinners had ceased to be interesting. Tired of ceremony and social pretense, Anne wrote in despair, “I have lost my mask.”37

  As news of the Lindberghs’ arrival in Russia filtered to the people, they were plunged into public demonstrations reminiscent of those during their early flying years. From Moscow, they flew to Kiev, to Odessa, and on to Rumania, where thousands awaited their arrival.38 The crowds could not be controlled.39 They were forced to stay at private homes rather than to risk being in public places. Police cars followed their every move.40

  The landing in Prague several days later coincided with Hitler’s declared threat to Czechoslovakia. But Anne was hopeful; the Czechs were well armed.41

  As Charles inspected the aviation factories, and Anne visited libraries and museums, the Czech government suddenly conceded to all the German demands. Hitler accelerated his preparations for invasion. Then, when France called up its one million reservists,42 Anne and Charles left Czechoslovakia. When they landed at Le Bourget across the Maginot Line, Anne was relieved.43 The shops on the rue St. Honoré looked “wonderful.”44 And Charles looked wonderful to the government ministers of France. His survey trip had earned him credentials; they wanted his firsthand impressions of Russian and German air power.

  On September 9, Anne and Charles spent the night in Paris, planning to meet American Ambassador William C. Bullitt and the French Air Minister Guy la Chambre in the morning. Ambassador Bullitt agreed with Charles that a direct German attack would cost the French three to four times as many casualties as the Germans. It would be “the death of a race,” he had earlier written to Roosevelt in a message advocating appeasement.45 A war would mean the end of civilization. Profoundly depressed, Guy la Chambre reported his conversation with Lindbergh to Premier Édouard Daladier and Foreign Minister Georges Bonnet. Bonnet concluded that “peace must be preserved at any cost,” and, for the moment, Roosevelt agreed. The next day he confirmed his commitment to American neutrality; he told White House reporters that it would be “100 percent wrong” to assume that America would side with Britain and France.46

  While Russia continued to urge France to take action, and while Britain maintained its silence, Czechoslovakia prepared to meet the Germans alone. On September 10, the Lindberghs departed from Paris in gloom, and arrived home too late to see Con and Aubrey, who had waited nearly a week for their return.47

  Hurriedly, at low tide, Charles walked the rocky sand toward St. Gildas, eager to report his findings to Carrel. There, he met a house guest who would become his friend and confidant for life. James Newton was a successful businessman who had discovered his “genius” for making friends and had dedicated his life to the service of “uncommon men.” In the wake of a religious epiphany that exposed his moral failings, he had joined the Moral Rearmament movement,48 which preached a philosophy of purity, honesty, and unselfish love. A long-time admirer of Alexis Carrel’s, Newton had jumped at the chance to meet him when their mutual friend Edward Moore suggested a trip to St. Gildas. The chance to meet Lindbergh doubled his interest.49

  Anne liked Jim right away. He was warm and gracious, but probably more clear-headed than the typical American. But his notions of morality were a bit too simplistic for her taste. Newton believed that war could be prevented by a “re-armament” of the collective moral spirit. Although Jim was a man of humility, his philosophy seemed to her immature and arrogant.50 Charles felt much the same, and Newton understood. Later, in his book, Newton explained that Charles was not an organization man and did not believe in a paternalistic God. Charles accepted life “on his own terms,” he wrote.51

  On September 14, while the Lindberghs supped in island darkness,
Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain prepared to meet Hitler. One day before Hitler’s deadline for capitulation, all of Western Europe was pitched for war. Bound to France, but sensing Daladier’s ambivalence, Chamberlain feared he stood alone. He asked Hitler to state his minimum demands. Hitler claimed he wanted only what was his: those parts of Czechoslovakia inhabited by Germans. He promised Chamberlain not to invade until Chamberlain had conferred with his cabinet. Russia, bound by treaty to France, massed its troops in the Ukraine.52

  On September 18, the Premier Daladier and Foreign Minister Bonnet met Hitler to establish the ground rules of annexation. Only those territories whose population was at last 50 percent German, they declared, would be conceded. The Czechs were not even offered a plebiscite. Abandoned and desperate, Prime Minister Eduard Beneš capitulated.

  Heady with victory, Hitler three days later demanded the total and unconditional occupation of the Sudetenland. Chamberlain convinced his cabinet to concede. He warned Hitler, however, that if France fought, so would Britain. On September 27, France and Britain mobilized for war and 1.5 million Czech soldiers gathered at the German border.53

  While the Czechs struggled with the devastating implications of an unprincipled peace, Charles was summoned to London to meet Joseph Kennedy, the American Ambassador to Britain.54 As a result of their September 13 meeting, Charles drew up a four-page report to the ambassador on his views of German air superiority.

  Kennedy and Lindbergh had met at Cliveden four months earlier and their isolationist, pro-German views made them fast friends. Kennedy fancied himself a maverick, an outsider with a businessman’s sense, rather than an obedient career diplomat. He was known for breaking protocol and for taking initiatives. Frustrated with the slow workings of the State Department, he appointed himself a “super ambassador” who could resolve problems for all of Europe.55 He believed the continent’s only hope was a negotiated peace with Nazi Germany, and he used Lindbergh’s report in an attempt to influence Roosevelt.56 Charles had asked the Germans for permission to share their data with “his own people,” and they had agreed. He made clear to Kennedy and Roosevelt, however, that he did not want his name associated with the information.57