Every American war has brought conflict over the extent to which national security will permit protesters to exercise their constitutional guarantee of freedom of expression. The most famous case was that of Clement L. Vallandigham, the passionate critic of Lincoln's Civil War policies and one of the most controversial figure in the nation's history. In the great crisis of his time, he insisted that no circumstance, even war, could deprive a citizen of his right to oppose government policy freely and openly.The consequence was a furor which shook the nation's legislative halls and filled the press with vituperation. The ultimate fate for Vallandigham was arrest, imprisonment, and exile. The burning issues raised by his case remain largely unresolved today. Mr. Klement follows the tragic irony of Vallandigham's career and reassesses the man and history's judgment of him. After his death, "Valiant Val'' became a symbol of the dissenter in wartime whose case continues to have relevance in American democracy.

The libro de los buenos proverbios, a key work in the medieval didactic tradition, is presented here for the first time in a western translation. The proverbs were assembled by the great ninth-century physician, translator, and author, Hunain ibn Ishaq. Harlan G. Sturm provides an excellent introduction to his translation of the Buenos Proverbios which deals with the book's role in medieval proverbial literature and with the life and significance of Hunain ibn Ishaq, whose influence in his own period was significant. Hunain accurately translated the scientific works of the ancients and contributed important commentaries to the medieval and scientific knowledge of his era.

Since the end of the eighteenth century, Christopher Clausen asserts, poetry has steadily declined in cultural status in the English-speaking world, yielding its former place as a bearer of truth to the advancing sciences. As the position of poetry was more and more threatened, its defenders made ever higher claims for its importance, even maintaining for a time that it would take the place of religion. But, though the Romantics brought about a sustained revival of serious poetry for a broad audience, the audience began to dwindle toward the end of the nineteenth century, and the decline accelerated as the twentieth century advanced. Though some of the cultural changes responsible for this retreat were beyond the control of poets -- "a society in which many people find their chief security and sense of meaning through the possession of certain objects will produce great advertising, not great poetry" -- Clausen finds in this situation evidence of an abdication among artists. Because modernist poets and their successors abandoned some indispensable principles, he believes, serious contemporary poetry now has virtually no audience outside of English departments. Yet the need for poetry "is not less in an era like ours," and "the opportunities that the end of the twentieth century offers to poetry will not become fully apparent unless and until poets take advantage of them."

While much has been written in recent years on death and dying, there has been little treatment of how people cope with death in the absence of religious belief, and virtually no examination of the potential political repercussions of a wider acceptance of mortality in American society. Alfred Killilea's strikingly original book revolves around a central irony: though the subject of death has been largely shunned in American culture lest it rob life of meaning and contentment, confronting death may be crucial to enable us as individuals and as a society to affirm life, even to survive, in this nuclear age.Killilea argues that the denial of death has fostered a disavowal of limits in general, and that a greater awareness of our mortality would provide a much needed catalyst for change in our political response to narcissism and nuclearism. He traces how, from John Locke to the present, a politics and an economics based on growth for the sake of growth have required an avoidance of human vulnerability. Our confrontation with mortality, Killilea argues, would goad us to question our roles as mere acquirers and to take more seriously the need for equality and community in our society.In charting how we can come to terms with death and how profoundly our attitudes toward death affect our attitudes toward politics, Killilea vides lucid and authoritative commentaries on such provocative thinkers as Earnest Becker, Robert Jay Lifton, Michael Novak, Daniel Bell, Christopher Lasch, and Jonathan Schell. Scholars in many fields as well as interested lay readers will find the treatment of these issues and thinkers compelling. This easily accessible book is an urgent reminder that the most valuable spur to the examined life extolled by Socrates is the knowledge that we will die.

Theodore Roosevelt's interest in foreign affairs was no less intense than his zeal for domestic reform, as Eugene P. Trani demonstrates in this new study of the Portsmouth Conference which in 1906 brought an end to the Russo-Japanese war.Conscious of America's growing stature as a world power and concerned lest continued hostilities disrupt further the political and economic composition of East Asia, Roosevelt proclaimed himself peacemaker. With characteristic energy -- and with considerable tact -- he initiated the conference and successfully brought about a treaty. It was no easy task.Trani, who has made extensive use of Russian, Japanese, and American archival material, shows that the Tsarist government, mortified by Russian defeats, wished to renew the conflict. This last of the personally managed peace conferences greatly enhanced the prestige of both the United States and its ebullient chief executive.

Operating under an outmoded system of urban development and faced by the vicissitudes of the Civil War and Reconstruction, southerners in the nineteenth century built a network of cities that met the needs of their society. In this pioneering exploration of that intricate story, Lawrence H. Larsen shows that in the antebellum period, southern entrepreneurs built cities in layers to facilitate the movement of cotton. First came the colonial cities, followed by those of the piedmont, the New West, the Gulf Coast, and the interior. By the Civil War, cotton could move by a combination of road, rail, and river through a network of cities -- for example, from Jackson to Memphis to New Orleans to Europe.In the Gilded Age, building on past practices, the South continued to make urban gains. Men like Henry Grady of Atlanta and Henry Watterson of Louisville used broader regional objectives to promote their own cities. Grady successfully sold Atlanta, one of the most southern of cities demographically, as a city with a northern outlook; Watterson tied Louisville to national goals in railroad building. The New South movement did not succeed in bringing the region to parity with the rest of the nation, yet the South continued to rise along older lines. By 1900, far from being a failure in terms of the general course of American development, the South had created an urban system suited to its needs, while avoiding the promotional frenzy that characterized the building of cities in the North.Based upon federal and local sources, this book will become the standard work on nineteenth-century southern urbanization, a subject too long unexplored.

This study offers an introduction to an important branch of Spanish literature -- the romance, or ballad. Although a great many of these poems have been translated into English by various authors, they are not generally known nor easily accessible. Collected here for the first time in a single volume is a broad and representative sampling of romances in translation that encompasses historical ballads (including those about Spain's greatest folk hero, el Cid), Moorish ballads, and ballads of chivalry, love, and adventure. For the collection, Shasta M. Bryant has written a perceptive commentary and critique in which he discusses the individual poems and compares the translation with the original; both texts are presented to facilitate comparison. For those who wish to pursue their reading further there is an index of romances that have been translated into English, along with the names of the translators. Although the text has been written with the non-specialist in mind, this book will be equally valuable for students of comparative literature and of medieval Spain.

The Southern Appalachian Region is the largest American "problem area" -- an area whose participation in the economic growth of the nation has not been sufficient to relieve the chronic poverty of its people. The existence of the problem was recognized a generation ago, but in the past decade the resistance of such areas to economic advance has acquired a more urgent significance in American thought.In 1958, a group of scholars undertook to make a new survey of the Southern Appalachian Region. Aided by grants from the Ford Foundation ultimately amounting to $250,000, they set out to analyze the direction and extent of the changes which had taken place since the last survey (in1935), to define the problem in terms of the present situation, and -- if possible -- to arrive at recommendations for action which might enable the leaders of the Region and the nation to attack the problem with practical measures. In this volume are presented their comprehensive reports on the Region's population, its economy, its institutions, and its culture.The problems defined by this survey are a challenge to the whole nation, for the consequences of success or failure in solving them will not be limited to the Southern Appalachian Region.

"In the Holocaust novel, silence is always a character, and the word is always its subject matter." So writes David Patterson in this profound and original study of more than thirty important writers. Contrary to existing views, he argues, the Holocaust novel is not an attempt to depict an unimaginable reality or an ineffable horror. It is, rather, an endeavor to fetch the word from silence and restore it to meaning, to resurrect the human soul, to regenerate the relation between the self and God, the self and other, the self and itself.This book is less a critical study in the usual sense than an impassioned meditation on the deeper sources of the Holocaust novel. Among the authors examined are Elie Wiesel, Arnost Lustig, Aharon Appelfeld, Katzetnik 135633, Primo Levi, Yehuda Amichai, Piotr Rawicz, A. Anatoli, Saul Bellow, I.B. Singer, Anna Langfus, Rachmil Bryks, and Ilse Aichinger.The Shriek of Silence is a first in several respects: the first to examine the Holocaust novels in their original languages, the first to articulate a theoretical basis for its approach, and the first phenomenological investigation -- one that attempts to penetrate the process of creation for these novelists. Organized along conceptual lines, the book examines "the word in exile," the themes of death of the father and the child, transformations of the self, and the implications of the reader. Its philosophical foundations are Rosenzweig, Buber, Neher, and Levinas. Its critical approach is shaped by Bakhtin.The novelists of the Holocaust, in witnessing through their words, regain their voices and in so doing are reborn. By probing the depths of their struggle, Patterson's study draws us too toward a higher understanding, perhaps even our own rebirth.

Among the literary innovations of the seventeenth century -- a period of rich development in English prose -- was the resolve. Generally of religious inspiration, the resolve was intended as the instrument of reform of private and public morals to assist in attaining individual perfection and in establishing the ideal Christian state.John L. Lievsay has brought together an anthology of resolves from the pens of eighteen writers, some -- like Bishop Joseph Hall and Owen Feltham -- familiar names to students of English literature, and others virtually unknown. Despite its popularity as a literary form during the seventeenth century the resolve quickly declined in influence and died an untimely death. Lievsay sketches the history of this once well-known form and provides critical and comparative evaluations of the writers and their works.Until now, the only resolve writer anthologized since the seventeenth century has been Owen Feltham -- admittedly the best of the "resolvers" but, according to Lievsay, not greatly superior to Hall, Daniel Tuvill, or Francis Rous. Together, the selections in this volume offer a comprehensive view of a significant yet little-known development in English letters.

A ground-breaking collaborative study merging perspectives from history, political science, and urban planning, The Separate City is a trenchant analysis of the development of the African-American community in the urban South. While similar in some respects to the racially defined ghettos of the North, the districts in which southern blacks lived from the pre-World War II era to the mid-1960s differed markedly from those of their northern counterparts. The African- American community in the South was (and to some extent still is) a physically expansive, distinct, and socially heterogeneous zone within the larger metropolis. It found itself functioning both politically and economically as a "separate city" -- a city set apart from its predominantly white counterpart.Within the separate city itself, internal conflicts reflected a structural divide between an empowered black middle class and a larger group comprising the working class and the disadvantaged. Even with these conflicts, the South's new black leadership gained political control in many cities, but it could not overcome the economic forces shaping the metropolis. The persistence of a separate city admitted to the profound ineffectiveness of decades of struggle to eliminate the racial barriers with which southern urban leaders -- indeed all urban America -- continue to grapple today.

The essentially tragic political fate of the American South in the nineteenth century resulted from what Robert F. Durden calls a "self-inflicted wound" -- the gradual surrender of the white majority to the pride, fears, and hates of racism. In this gracefully written and closely reasoned study, Durden traces the course of southern political life from the predominantly optimistic, nationalistic Jeffersonian era to the sullenly sectional, chronically defensive decades following the Civil War. Politics, as the clearest reflection of the southern electorate's collective hopes and fears, illustrates the South's transition from buoyant nationalism to aggrieved sectionalism. Like the rest of the new nation, the South entered the nineteenth century as proud heirs of the American Revolution and its ideology of liberty, property, and equal rights. But for southerners, from the 1820s on, that liberty came increasingly to mean the freedom to own slave property and to take that property into the nation's new western territories.As the possibility of a ban on slavery in the territories rose to the center of national attention during and after the Mexican War, the South's views on the "peculiar institution" became increasingly defensive and intransigent. The presidential victory in 1860 of an all-northern party pledged to the exclusion of slavery from the territories made the Civil War inevitable. In its aftermath, white southerners sought and ultimately found, in the hegemony of the Democratic party, other ways to maintain their national position and their dominance over the black minority. But the South would long suffer the aftereffects of its "self-inflicted wound."

The American position on Russia during the First World War was defined by the same idealism that guided our relations with other countries. Woodrow Wilson and American leaders had hailed the Revolution of March 1917 as an expression of the true spirit of Russia, a harbinger of democracy. The Bolshevik revolt and the civil war that followed were, in their eyes, only temporary disturbances. Still, the growth of the new democracy would only prosper if the Russians could restore order to their beleaguered land.In this book Linda Killen examines a hitherto neglected instrument of American policy in Russia-the Russian Bureau of the War Trade Board. With support from the administration, the bureau was established by Congress in October 1918 as a public corporation with a fund of $5 million to facilitate trade between Russia and America, for government and business leaders thought that the Russians could be helped to resolve their problems with the income from trade. The bureau was also to assist in two areas essential to trade, stabilizing the currency and restoring the transportation system. With the signing of the peace treaty, however, the bureau as a wartime agency was dissolved in June 1919 and its work assigned to the State Department.As one of the first American attempts at foreign aid, the bureau's program was necessarily tentative, but Linda Killen shows that, as a specific case, the bureau offers an instructive example. It reveals a widespread ignorance of Russian affairs both in government and in business circles. More importantly, it demonstrates the fatal weakness of an idealistic policy that was blind to political realities. Perhaps, the bureau's most tangible "accomplishment" came when its $5 million were finally transferred to the Trans-Siberian Railroad to purchase new equipment. Yet, ironically, it was the hated Bolsheviks who benefitted from this aid when they seized Siberia and used the new equipment to restore the rail line to efficient operation.This detailed study of the Russian Bureau sheds new light on a turbulent and tragic area of American diplomacy. Unfortunately, the democratic Russia that Wilson sought to help may never have existed except in his mind and never came to be.

The year was 778. Charlemagne, starting homeward after an expedition onto the Iberian Peninsula, left his nephew, Count Roland, in command of a rear guard. As Roland and his troops moved through the Pyrenees, a fierce enemy swooped down and annihilated them. Whether the attackers were Moors, Basques, Gascons, or Aquitainians is still disputed. The massacre soon passed into legend, preserved but at the same time expanded and interpreted in oral tradition and written accounts.Dormant after the late Middle Ages, the legend began to inspire literary works even before the discovery and publication of the Oxford manuscript Chanson de Roland in 1837. The French Revolution and Empire, temporarily relieving Roland of his religious aura, hailed him as a patriot belaboring his country's foes. The Romantics made him either a dauntless, irrepressible extrovert or a noble victim struck down while making the world a better place. As the twentieth century dawned, a few authors scoffed at hero worship but others held up Roland as a heroic example that might help his countrymen live with the humiliation of their defeat in the Franco-Prussian War and then, as World War I approached, retake their lost territories.Fascinating as the Roland legend is in itself, no one has looked into the nonacademic French literature to which it has given rise in modern times. Harry Redman now shows how writers, with varying outlooks and approaches and divergent purposes, drew upon the legend from 1777 to the end of World War I. A monumental enterprise based on primary research, the book is of extraordinary value to scholars interested in the Old French epic and to all those concerned with more recent literary periods.

In this description and analysis of the organization of the revolutionary movement in New York, Bernard Mason focuses upon the intricate political alignments which the cause of independence created. He finds that the revolutionaries, contrary to the long-standing thesis, formed a decisive majority, although their effectiveness was hampered by vacillation and by a protracted struggle for leadership. Despite the timidity of the Whig leaders, the polemicists gave vent to their militancy and public attitudes tended to lead rather than follow those of the politicians. Moreover, independence was only half of the great question. Intertwined with it was the nature of the state government itself. Mr. Mason clarifies the confusion and obscurity which surrounded the creation of the first state constitution, pointing out the many alternatives which were widely discussed.Mason rejects Becker's thesis of class conflict as being a significant factor in New York, although it did have a muted and diffused role in shaping the structure of the revolutionary organization. The very nature of the strife with the parent nation did, however, open the doors of power to the middle class farmers, who were learning political self-reliance and independence.

The history of the meat packing industry of the Midwest offers an excellent illustration of the growth and development of the economy of that major industrial region. In the course of one generation, meat packing matured from a small-scale, part-time activity to a specialized manufacturing operation. Margaret Walsh's pioneering study traces the course of that development, shedding light on an unexamined aspect of America's economic history. As the Midwest emerged from the frontier period during the 1840s and 1850s, the growing urban demand for meat products led to the development of a seasonal industry conducted by general merchants during the winter months. In this early stage the activity was widely dispersed but centered mainly along rivers, which provided ready transportation to markets.The growth of the railroads in the 1850s, coupled with the westward expansion of population, created sharp changes in the shape and structure of the industry. The distinct advantages of good rail connections led to the concentration of the industry primarily in Chicago, but also in St. Louis and Milwaukee. The closing of the Mississippi River during the Civil War insured the final dominance of rail transport and spelled the relative decline of such formerly important packing points as Cincinnati and Louisville.By the 1870s large and efficient centralized stockyards were being developed in the major centers, and improved technology, particularly ice-packing, favored those who had the capital resources to invest in expansion and modernization. By 1880, the use of the refrigerated car made way for the chilled beef trade, and the foundations of the giant meat packing industry of today had been firmly established.Margaret Walsh has located an impressive array of primary materials to document the rise of this important early industry, the predecessor and in many ways the precursor of the great industrial complex that still dominates today's midwestern economy.