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A fundamental truth about British power in the nineteenth century and beyond was that Britain was a global power. Her international position rested on her global economic, naval and political presence; and her foreign policy operated on a global scale. This volume throws into sharp relief the material elements of British power, but also its less tangible components, from Britain's global network of naval bases to the vast range of intersecting commercial, financial and intelligence relationships, which reinforced the country's political power. Leading historians reshape the scholarly debate surrounding the nature of British global power at a crucial period of transformation in international politics, and in so doing they deepen our understanding of the global nature of British power, the shifts in the international landscape from the high Victorian period to the 1960s, and the changing nature of the British state in this period.
Sex differences in the incidence of infections may indicate different risk factors and behaviour but have not been analysed across pathogens. Based on 3.96 million records of 33 pathogens in Germany, notified from 2001 to 2013, we applied Poisson regression to generate age-standardised incidence rate ratios and assessed their distribution across age and sex. The following trends became apparent: (a) pathogens with male incidence preponderance at infant and child age (meningococcal disease (incidence rate ratio (IRR) = 1.19, 95% CI 1.03–1.38, age = 0–4); influenza (IRR = 1.09, 95% CI 1.06–1.13, age = 0–4)), (b) pathogens with sex-switch in incidence preponderance at puberty (e.g. norovirus (IRR = 1.10, 95% CI 1.02–1.19 in age = 5–14, IRR = 0.96, 95% CI 0.93–0.99, age ⩾ 60), (c) pathogens with general male incidence preponderance (bacterial/parasitic infections with campylobacter, Yersinia and Giardia), (d) pathogens with male incidence preponderance at juvenile and adult age (sexually transmitted or vector-borne infections (combined-IRR = 2.53, 95% CI 2.36–2.71, age = 15–59), (e) pathogens with male preponderance at older age (tick-borne encephalitis - IRR = 2.75, 95% CI 1.21–6.24, listeriosis - IRR = 2.06, 95% CI 1.38–3.06, age ⩾ 60). Risk factor concepts only partly serve to interpret similarities of grouped infections, i.e. transmission-related explanations and sex-specific exposures not consistently explain the pattern of food-borne infections (b). Sex-specific differences in infectious disease incidence are well acknowledged regarding the sexually transmitted diseases. This has led to designing gender-specific prevention strategies. Our data suggest that for infections with other transmission routes, gender-specific approaches can also be of benefit and importance.
Myostatin acts as a negative regulator of muscle growth. Mice and cattle deficient for myostatin have a dramatic increase in skeletal muscle mass (McPherron et al., 1997, Arnold et al., 2001). Natural mutations in the myostatin gene have been seen in several cattle breeds and in one mouse line and in cattle the associated phenotype is referred to as ‘ Double-muscling’ (DM). Although the direct DM effect seems to be positive in meat producing livestock with increased muscle and decreased fat there are reports of negative side effects in reproductive and other traits in cattle, with an indication of substantial interaction with the genetic background (Wiener et al., 2002). Thus it may be possible to select for the beneficial traits, while minimising the impact of the negative effects. Although negative side effects are not fully understood, breeding companies in the meat-producing sector are devoting considerable effort to high-throughput screening for mutations in this gene, hoping to find variants associated with increased muscularity. It is important that the impacts of such mutations on a wide range of production and welfare traits are fully explored before it becomes a focus of selection in meat producing livestock. The objectives of the work presented here were to utilise marker assisted introgression of a myostatin-deficiency producing partially recessive allele (Compact, MstnCmpt-dl1Abc) to estimate its effects on traits of growth and fitness on the genetic background of an extreme high growth line, as a model of a highly developed livestock breed. Fitness effects as assessed by the segregation ratio are reported here.
The Muenster Redshift Project provides to date 0.9 million low-resolution redshifts obtained from automatic reductions of pairs of direct and low-dispersion objective prism Schmidt plates. Preliminary results obtained from subsamples of the survey are described.
Neurological soft signs (NSS) have long been considered potential endophenotypes for schizophrenia. However, few studies have investigated the heritability and familiality of NSS. The present study examined the heritability and familiality of NSS in healthy twins and patient–relative pairs.
The abridged version of the Cambridge Neurological Inventory was administered to 267 pairs of monozygotic twins, 124 pairs of dizygotic twins, and 75 pairs of patients with schizophrenia and their non-psychotic first-degree relatives.
NSS were found to have moderate but significant heritability in the healthy twin sample. Moreover, patients with schizophrenia correlated closely with their first-degree relatives on NSS.
Taken together, the findings provide evidence on the heritability and familiality of NSS in the Han Chinese population.
[S]uch moments of worry flew away like cobwebs in the wind. Although, every now and then, we thought of war, it was no different from contemplating death – as something that was possible but presumably far away.
STEFAN ZWEIG (1944)
Jagow’s attempt to rationalize German decision-making up to this point of the crisis was tantamount to a declaration of political bankruptcy. Even though the head of the Wilhelmstrasse was acutely aware of the risks entailed in Berlin’s self-imposed passivity, he was determined to stay on the sidelines. There was, it is true, some tactical advantage to be gained from being able to maintain ignorance of Vienna’s intentions, if the crisis later escalated. But that in itself contained the risk – a not inconsiderable one as it turned out – of not being wholly credible. Above all, however, it meant abdicating all influence over the Habsburg leadership at the inception of Austria-Hungary’s planned offensive against Serbia; and that would make it all the more difficult to re-establish any kind of influence later on. Apparent ignorance was thus purchased at the price of impotence. To some extent, Berlin was driven by the perceived weakness of the Austro-Hungarian ally; and that fear of the spiralling decline of the Habsburg Empire gave Vienna a form of negative power over Germany. It was a case of the strong submitting to being led by the weak.
Being led by Vienna also meant being misled. For, by the middle of July, Count Berchtold no longer consulted with the government at Berlin. Indeed he was reluctant to share any information with the Wilhelmstrasse, and would not do so until he communicated, on 22 July, the full text of the ultimatum to be delivered to Belgrade. Berchtold did not wish to give Berlin the opportunity to change course and restrain Habsburg policy, as had been the case during the Balkan turmoil in 1912–13. But his sudden reserve also stemmed from a fear of leaks. By now almost three weeks had passed since the murder of the Archduke and his wife. Any careless indiscretion, any mischievous rumour – the two banes of the diplomatic profession – might force open the whole issue and bring about the interference of the other Powers. Such fears were not groundless.
The initial fright at this war that no-one had wanted, not the peoples, not the government – this war, which had slipped out of the clumsy hands of the diplomats, who had played and bluffed with it – had turned into sudden enthusiasm.
STEFAN ZWEIG (1944)
Giesl’s departure from Belgrade and the severing of diplomatic relations between the Monarchy and Serbia created a new situation in Europe. From the beginning of the Sarajevo crisis, Berchtold later argued, Vienna’s aim had been to coerce the Serbian government into giving both a guarantee that the assassination plot would be thoroughly investigated, and, to reinforce it, a pledge to refrain in future from any anti-Habsburg activities. Belgrade’s reply to the démarche offered nothing of the kind, as Giesl confirmed personally when he called on Berchtold and his senior officials at the Ballhausplatz at 4 p.m. on 26 July. The envoy’s declaration, Berchtold recalled, was decisive: ‘practically nothing had been achieved with the Serbian move and that everything would remain unchanged . . . It would have meant deceiving ourselves had we accepted an apparent but in concreto useless success.’
It must be doubted whether Giesl’s pronouncement was indeed key to decision-making at Vienna. Austria-Hungary’s last envoy to Serbia had merely done what he had been told to do. But Berchtold was satisfied that the breach with Belgrade bore Giesl’s imprimatur. ‘None of us’, one of the officials at the Ballhausplatz explained, ‘could have done it; only a soldier could do it’. Giesl’s profound knowledge of the Balkans and the Southern Slav peoples – he was married to a Serbian lady – also offered a convenient umbrella for protection against current and later criticism. Berchtold himself had worked purposefully towards conflict with Serbia, a third Balkan war that would roll back the recent expansion of the neighbouring kingdom and reassert Austria-Hungary’s beleaguered position and waning influence in the region. The ‘tunnel vision’ of the Habsburg leadership was exclusivly focused on this single object, the diminution, if not outright destruction, of Serbia.
There, in Kakania, this misunderstood and since disappeared state, yet in so many ways exemplary without being so recognized, there was also tempo, just not too much tempo.
The talks at Potsdam and Berlin on 5 and 6 July marked an important turning point during the events of the summer of 1914. In securing the ‘blank cheque’, the suave hawk Hoyos and the faux ‘gypsy’ ambassador Szögyény had achieved a remarkable diplomatic triumph, albeit one for entirely undiplomatic ends and one that was to remain well-concealed until war was imminent. The promise of unconditional German support gave the Ballhausplatz the assurance it had sought before any firm action against Serbia could be contemplated. For Berchtold the ‘blank cheque’ opened the road towards a swift and decisive move against the intractable southern neighbour. Its speed and decisiveness, and the specific circumstances of the Sarajevo regicide, created the chance of deterring intervention by the other Powers. Above all it offered the hope of circumscribing Russia’s room for interference, as German support had done in the Bosnian annexation crisis in 1908–9. Berlin’s support thus ought to ensure that the contemplated move against Serbia would not escalate into a wider conflict. If it did, then Germany would provide cover along the Monarchy’s long and vulnerable Galician frontier in the north. As was seen earlier, the notion of ‘settling accounts’ with Serbia set the tone of the discussions at Vienna in the days immediately after Sarajevo. The ‘blank cheque’ reinforced the belligerent attitude of senior Habsburg officials. It guaranteed that Austria-Hungary’s final reckoning with Serbia would be a military one. A diplomatic solution was now the least favoured option for Vienna.
This is a magisterial new account of Europe's tragic descent into a largely inadvertent war in the summer of 1914. Thomas Otte reveals why a century-old system of Great Power politics collapsed so disastrously in the weeks from the 'shot heard around the world' on June 28th to Germany's declaration of war on Russia on August 1st. He shows definitively that the key to understanding how and why Europe descended into world war is to be found in the near-collective failure of statecraft by the rulers of Europe and not in abstract concepts such as the 'balance of power' or the 'alliance system'. In this unprecedented panorama of Europe on the brink, from the ministerial palaces of Berlin and Vienna to Belgrade, London, Paris and St Petersburg, Thomas Otte reveals the hawks and doves whose decision-making led to a war that would define a century and which still reverberates today.
It appears to me to be from its very nature an impossibility even to determine from documentary evidence the question of who was responsible for the outbreak of the war.
VICTOR NAUMANN (1919)
At the end of June 1914, the young Oxford historian E. L. Woodward was spending part of his summer vacation at a resort in the Black Forest. In the late afternoon of Sunday, 28 June, the polite tinkling of cosmopolitan teacups on the long terrace of the Badenweiler spa hotel was interrupted by some startling news: the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Habsburg throne and future ruler of some forty-five million people in central and south-eastern Europe, had been assassinated in Sarajevo. The hotel crowd excitedly dispersed to form separate groups according to nationality: ‘I knew that something very grave had happened’, Woodward reflected many decades later. Something grave had indeed happened, though Woodward was perhaps reading back into the past a fancy of foresight.
When viewed at the distance of a century, there is a paradox about 1914: it should have been an unremarkable year. After years of turmoil, especially in south-eastern Europe, the short-term indicators pointed towards peace. European diplomats spoke of a new era of détente. But the two recent Balkan conflicts in 1912 and 1913 had left unexploded ordnance in their wake, one being Albania, now independent but without agreed frontiers. Under the rule of a German princeling, the Prince of Wied, the country was on the verge of becoming a failed state: ‘les caisses sont vides, le thrône est Wied, tout est vide [the coffers are empty, [on] the throne is Wied, everything is empty]’, as some unkindly soul put it in the spring of 1914. But whilst there were problems in the periphery of Europe, relations between the Great Powers appeared relatively free of friction, especially when compared with previous years. To explain how and why the Powers found themselves in a world war, then, poses a significant challenge to the student of the past.
Voices from the crowd: Bravo! That’s it – Serbien muss sterbien [Serbia must die] – Whether she wants to or not.
The news of the Archduke’s assassination burst on a political scene at Vienna that was seemingly quiescent. In 1914, Sunday, 28 June marked the end of the ‘season’ in the Habsburg capital. Society and political leaders had already dispersed, or were about to leave for the country for the remainder of the summer. But underneath the impression of a capital in holiday mood there was a barely suppressed febrile atmosphere that made officials and their political masters susceptible to suggestions of a military confrontation with the troublesome southern neighbour. They were ever ready to react to the latest provocation with force.
‘Music everywhere’: the reaction in Vienna
The violent death of the Archduke appalled all Europe. This, after all, was a civilized age. ‘An agonized cry of horror resounds across five continents’, wrote the semi-official Pester Lloyd, Hungary’s leading paper. Europe’s monarchs died peacefully in their beds; they were not gunned down in the street. Even The Times carried no fewer than seven news items on the murder at Sarajevo in its issue of 29 June. For a brief moment, the events in far-away Bosnia superseded the grim news from Ireland and attracted the attention of the British press and public. Franz Ferdinand and his consort had made a great impression during their visit to Britain in November 1913, and the Archduke enjoyed a degree of popularity here: ‘It is less than a year since many of us saw the Archduke and his wife enjoying their visit to Windsor seeming to be so happy here, and this too quickens our sympathy.’ King George V himself called on the Habsburg ambassador, Count Albert Mensdorff; the Royal court was in official mourning; and on 5 July, there was a requiem mass at the Roman Catholic Westminster Cathedral, which was attended by several Cabinet ministers.