Narrator: Imagine a world on display. It’s Paris, 1900, and the Universal Exposition has transformed the city into a dazzling spectacle of progress. Pavilions showcase the wonders of electricity, the promise of the automobile, and the artistic triumphs of a century. Millions of visitors walk through this city within a city, convinced they are witnessing the dawn of a new era of permanent peace and prosperity, a time when war has become, as the official catalog itself notes, a relic of a less civilized past. Yet, hidden within this grand celebration are subtle but ominous signs of what is to come. The German pavilion boasts of naval ambitions, colonial exhibits display the fruits of imperial power, and new, devastating artillery pieces sit silently, hinting at a future far different from the one being celebrated. How could a continent so confident in its peaceful future stand just fourteen years from a war that would shatter its empires and kill millions?

In her book, The War That Ended Peace: The Road to 1914, historian Margaret MacMillan meticulously dismantles the myth of inevitability. She argues that the First World War was not a foregone conclusion but the result of a series of choices, miscalculations, and failures of imagination by leaders who walked, step by step, toward a catastrophe they could not fully comprehend.

Narrator: At the turn of the 20th century, Europe was basking in the glow of what seemed like an unbreakable peace. The Paris Exposition of 1900 was the ultimate symbol of this confidence. It celebrated not just technological marvels but a shared European civilization that believed it had transcended the brutish conflicts of the past. Thinkers like the American writer John Fiske argued that the "victory of the industrial over the military type of civilization" was becoming complete. Economic interdependence was weaving the continent together; British imports from Germany had tripled in two decades. Many, like the pacifist Norman Angell in his influential book The Great Illusion, argued that modern war was simply irrational. Conquering another nation, he reasoned, was economic suicide in a world of global finance and trade. This optimism, however, created a dangerous complacency. It masked the deep-seated anxieties and rivalries simmering just beneath the surface, from the rise of new powers to the destabilizing force of nationalism. The belief in perpetual progress became a gilded cage, trapping leaders in the assumption that peace was the natural order, blinding them to the warning signs of its fragility.

Narrator: For much of the 19th century, Great Britain had maintained a policy of "splendid isolation," secure in its naval supremacy and vast empire. But the turn of the century brought new challenges that shook this confidence. The Boer War in South Africa (1899-1902) proved to be a costly and brutal struggle that exposed Britain's military vulnerabilities and earned it international condemnation. This humbling experience forced a major reassessment of its foreign policy. Simultaneously, the rapid industrial and military growth of Germany under Kaiser Wilhelm II presented a direct challenge to British dominance.

A single, impulsive act perfectly captured this new tension. In 1896, after a failed British-backed raid against the Boer Transvaal Republic, Kaiser Wilhelm sent a congratulatory telegram to the Boer president, Paul Kruger. The "Kruger Telegram" caused outrage in Britain, where it was seen as a grave and unfriendly insult. This, combined with Germany's stated ambition for a "place in the sun," pushed Britain to abandon its isolation. It began seeking allies, a move that would fundamentally alter the balance of power in Europe and solidify the opposing alliances that would eventually march to war.

Narrator: At the heart of Germany's challenge to the old order was its leader, Kaiser Wilhelm II. A complex and insecure man, shaped by a difficult birth that left him with a withered arm and a fraught relationship with his English mother, Wilhelm was desperate to prove both his own strength and Germany's. He dismissed the seasoned Chancellor Otto von Bismarck and embarked on an ambitious and erratic foreign policy known as Weltpolitik—a quest for global power and influence.

The most provocative element of this policy was the decision to build a massive navy. Influenced by Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, Germany began constructing a fleet of powerful battleships with the explicit goal of challenging Britain's control of the seas. For Britain, an island nation dependent on its navy for food, trade, and the security of its empire, this was an existential threat. The result was a ruinously expensive naval arms race. The launch of Britain's HMS Dreadnought in 1906, a revolutionary battleship that rendered all others obsolete, only escalated the competition. This naval rivalry did more than drain national treasuries; it poisoned Anglo-German relations, fueled public paranoia in both countries, and became the central symbol of their growing antagonism.

Narrator: As Germany became more assertive, its rivals began to draw closer. The most surprising development was the reconciliation between two ancient enemies: Britain and France. Their imperial ambitions had nearly brought them to war during the Fashoda Incident of 1898, when French and British expeditions met in a tense standoff in a remote part of Sudan. Yet, faced with a common fear of Germany, they chose diplomacy over conflict. Spearheaded by the French Foreign Minister Théophile Delcassé, and aided by a charm offensive from Britain's King Edward VII in Paris, the two nations settled their colonial disputes and signed the Entente Cordiale—the "friendly understanding"—in 1904.

This was not a formal military alliance, but it signaled a monumental shift. Germany, feeling increasingly encircled, tried to break the new partnership by provoking the First Moroccan Crisis in 1905, but this only strengthened the Anglo-French bond. The web grew tighter when Britain, again setting aside a long history of rivalry, reached an agreement with Russia in 1907. With the formation of the Triple Entente (Britain, France, and Russia) to counter the Triple Alliance (Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Italy), the continent was now dangerously divided into two armed camps. A crisis involving any one member now threatened to pull them all into the fray.

Narrator: While the great powers maneuvered, the most volatile region in Europe was the Balkans. As the Ottoman Empire weakened, newly independent states like Serbia, Bulgaria, and Greece vied for territory, often with the backing of larger patrons like Russia and Austria-Hungary. The Austro-Hungarian Empire, a sprawling, multi-ethnic state, was particularly fearful of the rise of nationalism, especially from Serbia, which it saw as a threat to its own South Slav subjects.

In 1908, Austria-Hungary formally annexed the provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina, outraging Serbia and its protector, Russia. This act, and the subsequent Balkan Wars of 1912-1913, left the region a "powder keg." Figures like Conrad von Hötzendorf, the chief of the Austro-Hungarian general staff, relentlessly advocated for a "preventive war" to crush Serbia once and for all. All that was needed was a spark. That spark came on June 28, 1914, in Sarajevo, with the assassination of the Austro-Hungarian heir, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, by a Bosnian Serb nationalist. Austria-Hungary, with Germany's infamous "blank check" of support, saw its chance to settle scores with Serbia, setting in motion the rigid timetables of mobilization that would drag all of Europe into the abyss.

Narrator: The central, haunting takeaway from The War That Ended Peace is that the First World War was a tragedy of choice, not an inevitability. It was a failure of diplomacy, of empathy, and of imagination. The leaders of 1914 were, as MacMillan puts it, "sleepwalkers," stumbling towards a precipice they could not see, trapped by their own fears, ambitions, and the unspoken assumptions of their age. They were bound by notions of national honor that demanded firmness, by rigid military plans that allowed for no flexibility, and by a deep-seated fear of appearing weak.

The book's most challenging idea is how easily a long peace can be taken for granted and how quickly it can unravel. It serves as a powerful reminder that stability is not a permanent state but a fragile construction, dependent on the wisdom and courage of leaders to choose cooperation over conflict. The road to 1914 was paved not by a single villain or a single cause, but by a collective failure to appreciate the world they were about to lose, and the horrific one they were about to create.