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®i|e S%atl| Utbranj

mtJ^rBal iuitpratur^


k'UtOltt yHOM

Ehoto^vnre^-Aftfir the painting, hy "MiUafc.
Specially eq^i|^ |"Qr,t^€t-Pi<lrath Librarj^.

John Cid\'k kikipiiiu, A.'VU iuL

K<litcr -"



®Ij? S%atl| Ctbrarg


Bmu^rfial iCtt^ratur^


a blographicai, and blbuographicai,
Summary op the World's Most Emi-
nent Authors, including thb
Choicest Extracts and Mastbr.



Corps of thb Most Capablb Scholars

Smtor-in .chief

John Clark Ridpath. A.M^ LLD.

Editor of " The Arena," Author of " Ridpath's
History of the United States," •' Encyclo-
pedia of Dniversal History," " Great
Races of Manltlnd/' etc., etc.

EOttton &c Xuic


Vol. V.


Copyright, 1899


a as in fat, man, pang.

a as in fate, mane, dale.

<t as in far, father, guard.

S as in fall, talk.

a as in ask, fast, ant.

a as in fare.

e as in met, pen, bless.

e as in mete, meet.

e as in her, fern.

i as in pin, it.

i as in pine, fight, file.

o as in not, on, frog.

5 as in note, poke, floor,
b as in move, spoon.

6 as in nor, song, off.
u as in tub.

u as in mute, acute.

ii as in pull.

ii German u, French u.

oi as in oil, joint, boy.

ou as in pound, proud.

A single dot under a vowel in an
unaccented syllable indicates its ab-
breviation and lightening, without ab-
solute loss of its distinctive quality.

3 as in prelate, courage.
^ as in ablegate, episcopal.
6 as in abrogate, eulogy, democrat.
a as in singular, education.

A double dot under a vowel in an un-
accented syllable indicates that, even in
ike mouths of the best speakers, its

sound is variable to, and in ordinary ut>

terance actually becomes, the short «•

sound (of but, pun, etc.). Thus:

a as in errant, republican.

e as in prudent, difference.

i as in charity, density.

o as in valor, actor, idiot.

^ as in Persia, peninsula.

S as in ike book.

Q as in nature, feature.

A mark (~)under the consonants /, d,
t, 2 indicates that they in like manner
are variable to c/t, j, sh, zh. Thus :
t as in nature, adventure.
d as in arduous, education.
8 as in pressure,
z as in seizure.
y as in yet.
B Spanish b (medial),
ch as in German ach, Scotch loch.
G as in German Abensberg, Hamburg.
H Spanish g before e and i; Spanish j ;

etc. (a guttural h).
h French nasalizing n, as in ton, en.
s final s in Portuguese (soft),
tb as in thin.
ZH as in then.

I> = TH.

' denotes a primary, " a secondary ac-
cent. (A secondary accent is not marked
if at its regular interval of two syllables
from the primary, or from another sec



C*b»Uero (kS bll yS'ro), (Feman), see

Fabcr, Cecilia BBhl von.
Cable (kaOjl), George Washington.
Csedmon (kad'mon).
Caesar (se'zar), Caius Julius.
Caine (kan), Thomas Henry HaU.
Caird (kard), Mona (Alison).
Caimes (kSrnz), John Elliott.
Calderon (kal'deron; Sp. pron. kal da

ron'), de la Barca, Pedro.
Calhoun (kal honO, John CaldweU.
Callimachus (ka lim'a kus).
Callistratus (ka lis'tra tus).
Calverley (kal'ver li), Charles Stuart.
Calvert (kal'vert), George Henry.
Calvin (kal'vin), John.
Camden (kam'den), William.
Cameron (kam'e ron), Vemey Lovett.
Camoens (kam'5 ens), Luis de.

Campan (koti po6'). Jeanne Louise Hen-
riette (Genest).

Campbell (kam'bel), Alexander.

Campbell, George.

Campbell, Helen.

Campbell, John, Lord.

Campbell, Thomas.

Campian (kam'plan), Edmund.

Canning (kan'ing), George.

CandoUe (ko6 dolO, see De CandoUe.

Canti (kan to'). Cesare.

Capel (kap'el), Thomas John.

Carducci (kar doot'chee), Giosuk

Carew (ka i'6'), Thomas.

Carey (ka'ri), Henry Charles.

Carey, Matthew.

Cail^n (kar Ian'), Emilia Flygar*.

Carleton (kSrl'ton), Will.

Carleton, William.

Carlisle (kar lil'). Earl of.

Carlyle (kar lil'), Jane W»lrfi.
Carlyle, John Aitkin.

Carlyle, Thomas.
Carman (kar'man), BKss.
Carnegie (kar ne'gi), Andrew.
Carpenter Onai'pen ttr), William Bep-

Carroll, Lewis, see Dodgson, C. L.
Cartwright (kirf rit), William.
Cary (ka'ri), Alice and Phoebe.
Cary, Henry Francis.
Casanova de Seignault (kS si no'va dg

sa nol), Jean Jacques.
Casas (ka'sas), Bartolom^ de las.
Casaubon (ka si'bon ; Fr. pron. kK zo

bSftO. Isaac.
Castelar (kas tS 15r'), Emilio.
Castiglione (kas tel yo'ne), Baldassare.
Catherwood (kaTH'er wid), Mary

Catlin (kat'lin), George.
Cato (ka'to), Marcus Porcius Prisons.
Cats (kats), Jakob.
Catullus (ka tul'us), Caius Valerius.
Caxton (kaks'ton), William.
Cellini (chel le'ne), Benvenuto.
Centlivre (sent liv'er or sent le'ver),

Cervantes Saavedra (ser van'tez; Sp.
pron. thcrvJtn'tes s£ a va'dra), Miguel
Chadboume (chad'btm), Paul Ansel.
Chadwick (chad'wik), John White.
Chalmers (cha'merz), Thomas.
Chambers (cham'berz), Robert and

Chamisso (sha mes'so), Adelbert von.
ChampoUion (sham pol'i on ; Fr. pron.
shoft pol yafl'), Figeac Jean Jacques.
ChampoUion, Jean Francois.
Channing (chan'ing), Edward T.
Channing, Walter.
Channing, William EUecy.


Channing, William Ellery 2.
Cbanning, William Francis.
Channing, William Henry.
Chapin (cha'pin), Edwin Hubbell.
Chapman (chap'man), George.
Chapone (sha pon'), Hester.
Charles (charlz), Elizabeth (Rundle),
Chasles (shal), Victor Euph^mion Phil-

Chateaubriand (sua tO bre on'), Fiao-

(ois RcD^.

Chatfield-Taylor (chat' f€ld-ti'lor),

Horace Chatfield.
Chatterton (chat'er ton), Thomas.
Chaucer (cha'ser), Geoffrey.
Cheever (che'ver), George Barrell.
Cheever, Henry Theodore.
Chenier (sha nya'), Andre-Marie de.
Cherbuliez (shar bii lya'), Victor.
Chesterfield (ches'ter feld), Eari of.
Ckiabrera (ke i. bra'ra), Gabriello.

CABLE, George Washington, an American
novelist, was born in New Orleans, October 12,
1844. His father dying when the boy was about
fifteen years of age, he left school and became a
clerk in a store ; and in 1863 he enlisted as a Con-
federate volunteer in the Fourth Mississippi cav-
alry. He was wounded, and, returning to New
Orleans, became an errand-boy in a store. He
studied continually, as he had done while in the
army ; and having acquired a knowledge of civil
engineering, he went from place to place in con-
nection with a surveying party. On the Atcha-
falaya he caught the '' break-bone " fever, which
left its lingering reminders upon him for a couple
of years. Then he began to send criticisms and
humorous papers and poems to the Picayune, sign-
ing himself " Drop Shot ; " and soon he was en-
gaged as an editor. Amid all the vicissitudes o\
fortune he had maintained his religious integrity,
and had scrupulously followed the dictates of con-
science ; and when he was asked to furnish theat.
rical reports for the paper, he resigned and went
to keeping books for a cotton dealer. In 1879,
being left by his employer's death without employ ■»
ment, and having already met with success in the
publication of sketches of Creole life in The Cen-
tury, he determined to depend upon his pen for
support. He also lectured successfully, reading



to delighted audiences extracts from his own
writings, and singing to the people of the North
the plantation songs of the far South. In 1879 he
took up his residence in the North, living in Con-
necticut and in Northampton, Mass. In 1897 he
assumed the editorial supervision of Current Liter'
ature. Mr. Cable's published books, the contents
of which have generally appeared first in serial
form in m.agazines, include Old Creole Days (1879)
The Grandissimes (1880) ; Madame Delphine (1881)
Dr. Sevier (1884) ; The Creoles of Lo7iisiana (1884)
The Silent South (1885); Bonaventure (1888); The
Negro Question (1888) ; Stories of Louisiana (1889) ;
Busy Mans Bidle {iSgi) ; John March, Southerner

It has been noted that Mr. Cable's renderings
of the Creole dialect, and his vivid picturings of
the social life of the Louisiana lowlands, have
given serious offence to some whose portraits he
has drawn. In this connection it is remarked by
Professor Backus that " the fact that Mr. Cable is
a man of simple and even stern views of life does
not surprise those who have felt the undercurrent
of serious purpose in the humor and pathos of his
descriptions. There is a tenderness in his hand-
ling of many social topics that betrays a more
than artistic interest. His studies are the result
of long and careful investigation of records and
history, as well as of personal observation." And
speaking on the same subject, Dr. Robertson
NicoU, who, with James M. Barrie, during their
trip to this country in the fall of 1896, visited both
Mr. Cable at his home in Northampton and the


Creole people of the South concerning whom the
latter had written, says of a woman who com*
plained of the unpleasing portrayals of character:
** I replied that to us it seemed that the Creole
people he drew were perfectly delightful people,
and that if he had underrated their merits they
must be the very chosen of the world. She was
somewhat propitiated by this, but remained still
unsatisfied. A journalist told me that there was
something effeminate about the Creole character
which Mr. Cable had faithfully rendered, and that
the Creoles did not like to have it pointed out. I
should have said feminine rather than effeminate ;
but in any case there should be little reason for
complaint. For delicate insight and unerring
workmanship there are very few short stories in
the English language that can approach them."


That which in 1835 — I think he said thirty-five — was
a reality in the Rue Burgundy — is now but a remi-
niscence. Yet so vividly was its story told me, that at
this moment the old Caf6 des Exiles appears before my
eye, floating in the clouds of reverie, and I doubt not I
see it just as it was in the old times.

An antiquated story-and-a-half Creole cottage, sitting
right down on the banquette, as do the Choctaw squaws
who sell bay and sassafras and life-everlasting, with a
high, close board fence shutting out of view the diminu-
tive garden on the southern side. An ancient willow
droops over the roof of round tiles, and partly hides the
discolored stucco, which keeps dropping off into the
garden as though the old caf6 were stripping for the
plunge into oblivion — disrobing for its execution. I see,
well up in the angle of the broad side gable, shaded by
its rude awning of clap-boards, as the eyes of an old
dame are shaded by her wrinkled hands, the window of


Pauline. Oh, for the image of the maiden, were it but
for one moment, leaning out of the casement to hang
her mocking-bird and looking down into the garden —
where, above the barrier of old boards, I see the top of
the fig-tree, the pale-green clump of bananas, the tall
palmetto with its jagged crown, Pauline's own two
orange-trees holding up their hands toward the window,
heavy with the promises of autumn ; the broad, crimson
mass of the many-stemmed oleander, and the crisp
boughs of the pomegranate, loaded with freckled apples,
and with here and there a lingering scarlet blossom !

The Cafe des Exiles, to use a figure, flowered, bore
fruit, and dropped it long ago ; or, rather. Time and
Fate — like some uncursed Adam and Eve — came side by
side and cut away its clusters, as we sever the golden
burden of the banana from its stem ; then, like a banana
which has borne its fruit, it was razed to the ground,
and made way for a newer, brighter growth. . . . It was
in 1835 that the Cafe des Exiles was, as one might say,
in full blossom. Old M. d'Hemecourt, father of Pauline,
and host of the caf6, himself a refugee from San Do-
mingo, was the cause, at least the human cause, of its
opening. As its white curtained, glazed doors expand-
ed, emitting a little puff of his own cigarette smoke, it
was like the bursting of catalpa blossoms, and the ex-
iles came like bees, pushing into the tiny room to sip
its rich variety of tropical syrups, its lemonades, its
orangeades, its orgeats, its barley-waters, and its out-
landish wines, while they talked of dear home — that is
to say of Barbadoes, of Martinique, of San Domingo,
and of Cuba.

There were Pedro and Benigno, and Fernandez and
Francisco, and Benito. Benito was a tall, swarthy man,
with immense gray moustachios, and hair as harsh as
tropical grass and gray ashes. When he could spare his
cigarette from his lips, he would tell you, in a cavernous
voice, and with a wrinkled smile, that he was "a-t-
thorty-seveng." There was Martinez of San Domingo,
yellow as a canary, always sitting with one leg curled
under him, and holding the back of his head in his
knitted fingers against the back of his rocking chair.
Father, mother, brother, sisters, all, had been massacred


in the struggle of '21 and '22 ; he alone was left to tell
the tale, and told it often, with that strange, infantile
insensibility to the solemnity of his bereavement so
peculiar to Latin people.

But besides these, and many who need no mention,
there were two in particular, around whom all the story
of the Caffe des Exiles, of old M. d'Hemecourt and of
Pauline, turns as on a double centre. First, Manuel
Mazaro, whose small, restless eyes were as black and
bright as those of a mouse, whose light talk became
his dark, girlish face, and whose redundant locks curled
so prettily and so wonderfully black under the fine,
white brim of his jaunty Panama. He had the hands
of a woman, save that the nails were stained with the
smoke of cigarettes. He could play the guitar delight-
fully, and wore his knife down behind his coat collar.
The second was " Major " Galahad Shaughnessy. I
imagine I can see him, in his white duck, brass-buttoned
roundabout, with his sabreless belt peeping out be-
neath, all his boyishness in his sea-blue eyes, leaning
lightly against the door-post of the Cafe des Exiles as
a child leans against his mother, running his fingers
over a basketful of fragrant limes, and watching his
chance to strike some solemn Creole under the fifth
rib with a good old Irish joke.

Old D'Hemecourt drew him close to his bosom. The
Spanish Creoles were, as the old man termed it, both
cold and hot, but never warm. Major Shaughnessy was
warm, and it was no uncommon thing to find these two
apart from the others, talking in an undertone, and
playing at confidantes like two school-girls. The kind
old man was at this time drifting close up to his sixtieth
year. There was much he could tell of San Domingo,
whither he had been carried from Martinique in his
childhood, whence he had become a refugee to Cuba,
and thence to New Orleans in the flight of 1809.

It fell one day to Manuel Mazaro's lot to discover,
sauntering within ear-shot, to Galahad Shaughnessy
only, of all the children of the Caf6 des Exiles, the
good host spoke long and confidentially concerning his
daughter. The words half heard and magnified, like
objects seen in a fog, meaning Manuel Mazaro knew


not what, but made portentous by his suspicious nature,
were but the old man's recital of the grinding he had
got between the millstones of his poverty and his
pride, in trying so long to sustain, for little Pauline's
sake, that attitude before society which earns respect
from a surface-viewing world. It was while he was
telling this that Manuel Mazaro drew near ; the old
man paused, in an embarrassed way ; the Major, sitting
sidewise in his chair, lifted his cheek from its resting-
place on his elbow ; and Mazaro, after standing an
awkward moment, turned away with such an inward
feeling as one may guess would arise in a heart fuU of
Cuban blood, not unmixed with Indian. . . .

Now there are jealousies and jealousies. There a>-
people who rise up quickly and kill, and there are oti-
ers who turn their hot thoughts over silently in theiv
minds, as a brooding bird turns her eggs in the nest.
Thus did Manuel Mazaro, and took it ill that Galahad
should see a vision in the temple while he and all the
brethren tarried without. Pauline had been to the
Cafe des Exiles in some respects what the image of the
Virgin was to their churches at home ; and for her
father to whisper her name to one, and not to another,
was, it seemed to Mazaro, as if the old man, were he v.
sacristan, should say to some single worshipper, " Here,
you may have this Madonna ; I make it a present to
you." Or, if such was not the handsome young Cre-
ole's feeling, such at least was the disguise hi^ jealousy
put on. If Pauline was to be handed down from her
niche, why, then, farewell. Cafe des Exiles. She was
its preserving influence, she made the place holy ; sh;
was the burning candles on the altar.

She was seldom seen ; but sometimes, when the long-
ing exiles would be sitting in their afternoon circle
under the eaves, and some old man would tell his tale
of fire and blood and capture and escape, and the heads
would lean forward from the chair-backs, and a grea^
stillness would follow the ending of the story, old V
d'Hemecourt would all at once speak up and say, laying
his hands upon the narrator's knee : " Comrade, your
throat is dry, here are fresh limes ; let my dear child
herself make you a lemonade." Then the neighbors,


iltting about their doors, would by and by softly say,
'See, see ! there ib Pauline ! " and all the exiles would
rise from their rocking-chairs, take off their hats and
stand, as men in church, while Pauline came out, like the
moon from a cloud, descended the three steps of the
cafe door, and stood with waiter and glass, like Rebecca
with her pitcher before the swarthy wanderer.

What tales that would have been tear-compelling, nay
heart-rending, had they not been palpable inventions,
the pretty, womanish Mazaro from time to time poured
forth, in the ever ungratified hope that the goddess
might come down with a draught of nectar for him, it
profiteth not to recount ; but I should fail to show a
family feature of the Cafe des Exiles did I omit to say
that these make-believe adventures were heard with
every mark of respect and credence ; while, on the other
hand, they were never attempted in the presence of the
Irishman. He would have moved an eyebrow, or made
some barely audible sound, or dropped some seemingly
innocent word, and the whole company, spite of them-
selves, would have smiled. Wherefore it may be doubted
whether at any time the curly haired young Cuban had
that playful affection for his Celtic comrade which a
habit of giving little velvet taps to Galahad's cheek
made a show of. — Old Creole Days.

C^DMON, an Anglo-Saxon monk of Whitby,
the first writer of note of wh'^./r there are any re-
mains who composed in his own language. He
is said to have died about 700. According to the
legend which has been transmitted to us by the
Venerable Bede, he was employed as cowherd to
the convent ; and on one occasion he had left the
dining hall and gone to the stable, where he had
fallen asleep. Suddenly a stranger appeared, *ind
qaid to him, " Caedmon, sing something.' "I
know nothing to sing, ' replied the monk. " Nay,"
said the stranger, "but thou hast something to
sing." "What must I sing?" asked Caedmon.
" Sing the Creation," replied the celestiai visitant.
Thereupon, " Caedmon began to sing these verses»
which he had never heard before : "


Nu we sceolan herian
heofon-rices weard,
ntetodcs mihte,
and his mod-ge-thonc,
wera ivitldor feeder /
swa he wundra ge-hwas^
ece dry h ten
cord onstealde.
He cerest ge-sciop
ylda bearnum
heofon to hrdfe,
halig scyppend /
Tha middan-geard
jnon-cynnes iveard^
tee dryhten,
after teode,
firutn foldan,
frea almihtig^

Now we shall praise

the guardian of heaven,

the might of the creator

and his counsel,

the glory- father of men,

how he of all wonders,

the eternal lord,

formed the beginning.

He first created

for the children of men

heaven as a roof,

the holy creator !

Then the world

the guardian of mankina^

the eternal lord,

produced afterward,

the earth for men,

the almighty master I


C^DMOr/ 15

The legend goes on to set forth the progress of
the enlightenment of Caedmon, the result being
that, in the judgment of all who heard him, he
had *' received the gift of song from Heaven." He
thereafter composed many poems based upon Bible
histories. The following, rendered into modern
English, is given in Turner's Anglo-Saxons :

Satan's hostility.

The universal Ruler had of the angelic race, through
his hand-power — the holy Lord ! — a fortress estab-
lished. To them he well trusted that they his service
would follow, would do his will. For this he gave
them understanding, and with his hands made them.
The holy Lord had stationed them so happily. One he
had so strongly made, so mighty in his mind's thought,
he let him rule so much — the highest in Heaven's king-
dom ; he had made him so splendid, so beautiful was
his fruit in Heaven, which to him came from the Lord
of Hosts, that he was like the brilliant stars. Praise
ought he to have made to his Lord ; he should have
valued dear his joys in Heaven ; he should have
thanked his Lord for the bounty which in that bright-
ness he shared, when he was permitted so long to gov-
ern. But he departed from it to a worse thing. He
began to upheave strife against the Governor of the
highest heavens that sits on the holy seat. Dear was
he to our Lord ; from whom it could not be hid that
his angel began to be over-proud. He raised himself
against his master ; he sought inflaming speeches ; he
began vainglorious words ; he would not serve (iod ;
he said he was his equal in light and shining, as white
and as bright in aspect ; nor could he find it in his
mind to render obedience to his God ; and that of him-
self he could have subjects of more might and skill
than God. Spake many more words this angel of pride.
He thought that through these he could make a more
strong-like seat higher in the heavens.

C-^SAR, Caius Julius, a Roman statesman,
soldier, and orator, born July 12, 100 (or, accord-
ing to some reckonings, 102) B.C.; died March 15,
44 B.C. Of the political and military life of Cae-
sar, we can here give only a bare outline, touch-
ing merely upon a few of its salient points. It
involves the story of fully a quarter of a cen-
tury of the most momentous years in the world's
history. He sprang from a famous Roman
family ; distinguished himself as an orator,
and was held by his contemporaries as second
only to Cicero. The commencement of his po-
litical life may be properly dated at 74 B.C., when
he was elected Pontifex, and soon attached him-
self to the party of Pompey — which may be
styled the democratic in distinction from the ariS'
tocratic party in Rome. In 6(i B.C. he was elected
to the curule aedileship, and gained great popu-
larity by the immense sums which he lavished
upon public buildings and popular shows. In 63
B.C. he was chosen as Pontifex Maximus, and soon
afterward as Praetor. At this time occurred the
conspiracy of Catiline, and the aristocratic party
vainly endeavored to persuade the consul, Cicero,
to include Caesar among those proscribed as con-
spirators. In 60 B.C. Caesar was elected Consul,
and in 59 he, in conjunction with Pompey and
Crassus, formed the political coalition which ia
commonly known as the First Triumvirate,



Upon the expiration of his consulship Caesar
received the governorship of the provinces of
Gallia Cisalpina and Gallia Transalpina. Begin-
ning in 58 B.C. Caesar conducted for nine years the
series of splendid military campaigns, of which he
himself is the historian, and which have given him
a place as one of the greatest generals of antiqui-
ty — the others being Alexander of Macedon and
Hannibal of Carthage. At the close of this period
Caesar was by all odds the most powerful man in
the Roman State. Pompey became jealous of
him, and went over to the aristocratic or Sena-
torial party. The Senate ordered Csesar to dis-
band his army, upon pain of being declared an

Online LibraryUnknownThe Ridpath library of universal literature : a biographical and bibliographical summary of the world's most eminent authors, including the choicest extracts and masterpieces from their writings ... (Volume 5) → online text (page 1 of 34)