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Russian Black Sea fleet, Wikimedia Commons

Russians Weigh War Against Turkey

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Russian Black Sea fleet, Wikimedia Commons

The First World War was an unprecedented catastrophe that killed millions and set the continent of Europe on the path to further calamity two decades later. But it didn’t come out of nowhere. With the centennial of the outbreak of hostilities coming up in August, Erik Sass will be looking back at the lead-up to the war, when seemingly minor moments of friction accumulated until the situation was ready to explode. He'll be covering those events 100 years after they occurred. This is the 98th installment in the series. 

January 13 to 15, 1914: Russians Weigh War Against Turkey, Liman von Sanders Affair Resolved

In mid-January 1914, the Liman von Sanders Affair was finally resolved by some bureaucratic sleight-of-hand in Constantinople—and not a moment too soon, as the Russians were seriously considering war against the Ottoman Empire.

In December 1913, Russian foreign minister Sergei Sazonov was alarmed by the appointment of a German officer, Liman von Sanders, to command the Turkish First Army Corps guarding Constantinople; Sazonov and other top officials in St. Petersburg feared this would place the Ottoman capital and strategic Turkish straits under German control, menacing Russian foreign trade and frustrating their own ambitions to conquer the ancient city in the not-too-distant future.

Sazonov responded by enlisting Russia’s “Triple Entente” allies, France and Britain, to pressure Germany and Turkey to cancel the von Sanders mission. The French were ready to back up Russia, but the cagey British required a bit of coaxing. After some dithering, British foreign minister Edward Grey finally warned Berlin that the Russians might demand compensation for von Sanders’ appointment in the form of territory in Turkish Armenia (where the Russians were already fomenting rebellion), which in turn might trigger the final collapse of the Ottoman Empire—exactly what the Germans didn’t want to happen (at least, not yet).

Facing a united front from Russia, France, and Britain, the Germans signaled that they were ready to compromise: after some prodding by German diplomats, in late December von Sanders asked the Turkish government to transfer him to another command, which would remove him from Constantinople while still upholding German prestige. However the Turks, still hoping to draw Germany into a long-term defensive alliance, took their time about granting the request.

The Russians were in no mood to wait: On January 13, 1914, Sazonov convened a war council presided over by premier Vladimir Kokovtsov (who was also finance minister) and attended by war minister Vladimir Sukhomlinov, navy minister Ivan Grigorovich, and chief of staff Yakov Zhilinsky. At this secret meeting Russia’s top leadership considered the ramifications of war against the Ottoman Empire—including the possibility of a much wider war.

Referring to Sazonov’s designs on Turkish Armenia, Kokovtsov warned that Russian advances here would probably trigger war with Germany and Austria-Hungary. Could Russia handle all three enemies at once? The answer depended partly on Russia’s allies. Here Sazonov told his colleagues that “France would go as far as Russia may wish,” an opinion supported by French president Raymond Poincaré’s statements as well as the recent appointment of the fiercely anti-German Maurice Paléologue as French ambassador to Russia; Sazonov had also received assurances from Poincaré that Britain would fight with them—as long as the British believed that the Germans started it.

On the military front, Sukhomlinov and Zhilinsky expressed confidence that Russia could fight Turkey, Germany, and Austria-Hungary simultaneously, as long as she could count on support from France and Britain. True, the strategic situation would be even better in 1917, when Russia’s Great Military Program, finally approved by Tsar Nicholas II in November 1913, would be substantially complete; Russia also needed to extend its military railroads and bolster its Black Sea fleet for an amphibious assault on Constantinople. But the soldiers were clear: If Russia had to go to war now, she could take all comers.

As it turned out, this wouldn’t be necessary. On January 15, 1914, the Turks announced that Liman von Sanders had been promoted to field marshal in the Turkish army, which meant he was now too high-ranking to command an individual army corps; instead he would serve as inspector general, overseeing training and reforms. Basically, von Sanders had been “kicked upstairs” to resolve the situation without damaging anyone’s prestige.

As this peaceful resolution showed, nobody actually wanted a general European war. The problem was that most of the Great Powers—Russia and France on one side, Germany and Austria-Hungary on the other—believed they faced long-term threats that might eventually compel them to go to war in spite of their own peaceful intentions. Russia feared another power might seize Constantinople and also felt obliged to protect its Slavic cousin, Serbia, in order to preserve its own influence in the Balkans; France feared Germany’s growing economic and military might and resented German bullying in colonial affairs; the Austrians feared the rise of Slavic nationalism in the Balkans, which threatened to tear their patchwork empire apart; and the Germans feared encirclement and the decline of Austria-Hungary, their only real ally.

As 1914 wore on these fears—along with each nation’s belief in its own military preparedness, and their collective tendency to bluff and counter-bluff in high-stakes conflicts—all combined to produce a very dangerous situation.

See the previous installment or all entries

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Hamilton Broadway
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Food
A Hamilton-Themed Cookbook is Coming
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Hamilton Broadway

Fans of Broadway hit Hamilton will soon be able to dine like the Founding Fathers: As Eater reports, a new Alexander Hamilton-inspired cookbook is slated for release in fall 2017.

Cover art for Laura Kumin's forthcoming cookbook
Amazon

Called The Hamilton Cookbook: Cooking, Eating, and Entertaining in Hamilton’s World, the recipe collection by author Laura Kumin “takes you into Hamilton’s home and to his table, with historical information, recipes, and tips on how you can prepare food and serve the food that our founding fathers enjoyed in their day,” according to the Amazon description. It also recounts Hamilton’s favorite dishes, how he enjoyed them, and which ingredients were used.

Recipes included are cauliflower florets two ways, fried sausages and apples, gingerbread cake, and apple pie. (Cue the "young, scrappy, and hungry" references.) The cookbook’s official release is on November 21—but until then, you can stave off your appetite for all things Hamilton-related by downloading the musical’s new app.

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History
The Man Who First Made Childbirth Pain-Free

The Wood Library Museum of Anesthesiology in Schaumburg, Illinois—a sprawling exurb of Chicago—is home to an obstetric treasure: a plaster cast of a newborn infant’s head. The bust shows the trauma of birth, the infant's head squeezed to a blunted point. The cast was made on January 19, 1847 by Sir James Y. Simpson in Edinburgh, Scotland, for a very special reason: It commemorates the first time that modern anesthesia was used to ease the pain of childbirth.

Simpson was not only a titled 1st Baronet but a gifted obstetrician. At age 28, he became Professor of Medicine and Midwifery at the University of Edinburgh. Many his senior in the medical community thought Simpson was an upstart—in fact, it's said that his middle name, "Young," was originally a derogatory taunt by his elders. In response to their jeers, Simpson adopted it for good.

Simpson initially used ether as an anesthetic in deliveries, but he soon began looking for an alternative anesthetic because of the gas's "disagreeable and very persistent smell" and the fact that it was irritating to the patients' lungs. His experimentation with chloroform—invented in the United States in 1831 by physician Samuel Guthrie—began in November 1847, with a brandy bottle and some post-dinner party research. The story goes that he presented the filled bottle to his guests to inhale. The next morning, the party were all found on the floor unconscious.

Scholars say this dramatic version of events is likely overblown, but the story illustrates the dangers of discovery. As Simpson's experiments continued, one neighbor and fellow doctor reportedly [PDF] came around to his home at 52 Queen Street every morning "just to inquire if every-one was still alive."

A drawing said to depict the effects of liquid chloroform on James Y. Simpson and his friends.
A drawing said to depict the effects of liquid chloroform on James Y. Simpson and his friends.

Eventually, Simpson got the formulation right with some help from his assistants, who were also local chemists. Over time, the delivery method also improved: Instead of a whiff of fumes from a brandy bottle, doctors developed an apparatus that resembled a glass hookah with long tubes attached to a mask. Later in the century, a soft flannel-covered, metal-handled cup or pouch placed over the nose and mouth of the patient was the preferred delivery method. The doctor—hopefully competent—doled out the anesthetic drop by drop. This method sought to reduce the risk of overdose deaths, which were a significant concern early on.

Simpson was the first to discover the anesthetic properties of chloroform, and soon began to use the drug to help women in labor. The medical community applauded his achievements, as did many women of childbearing age, but some Scottish Calvinists (and members of other religions) were not so happy. Genesis 3:16 was very clear on the matter of women suffering in childbirth as punishment for eating fruit from the Tree of Knowledge: "To the woman he said, I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children." For those who took the Bible literally, easing a woman’s pain was anathema.

Some reports from the time describe the divide between medicine and religion on this issue as an all-out revolt, while other accounts claim the religious response to anesthetizing "the curse of Eve" has been overblown by history. In general, it's fair to say the church wasn't thrilled about the use of anesthesia in labor. When Simpson introduced his discovery in 1847, the Scottish Calvinist Church proclaimed it a "Satanic invention." Pregnant women were reportedly warned by preachers: Use this “devilish treatment” and your baby will be denied a baptism.

Simpson disagreed—he didn't think women should have to suffer the pain of childbirth. He made both a scientific and biblical argument for anesthesia during labor. In a pamphlet, Answers to the Religious Objections Advanced Against the Employment of Anaesthetic Agents in Midwifery and Surgery and Obstetrics, Simpson pointed to Genesis and the deep sleep of Adam while his rib was being removed as being evidence "of our Creator himself using means to save poor human nature from the unnecessary endurance of physical pain." He went further, declaring that labor pains were caused by anatomical and biological forces (a small pelvis and a big baby caused uterine contractions)—not a result of the curse of Eve.

Public opinion changed after Queen Victoria took chloroform (applied by Dr. John Snow, famous for his work related to cholera) for the birth of her eighth child, Leopold, in 1853. The queen wrote in her diary: "Dr Snow administered that blessed chloroform and the effect was soothing, quieting and delightful beyond measure." Her final child, Princess Beatrice, was also born with the aid of anesthesia. Clearly, she approved.

Edinburgh is still proud of Simpson and of its special place in the history of anesthesia. From August 16 to 18, 2017, the Edinburgh Anesthesia Research and Education Fund will host the 31st Annual Anesthesia Festival, featuring lectures on anesthesia and pain medicine as well as drinks receptions, a private viewing of a Caravaggio, recitation of the works of Robert Burns (Scotland's most revered poet), and bagpiping.

According to the event website, the past success of the festival has led to moving the whole thing to a larger space to accommodate demand. Apparently there are a great number of people with a passion for medical history—or at least, a great deal of gratitude for the development of anesthesia.

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