eness, went on submitting himself to every
experiment, accepting every medicine, and dying inch by inch."[1]

[Footnote 1: Correa, _op. cit._, p. xix.]

Shortly before the end he turned to his friends who surrounded his
bed, and said to them, "Acordaos de mis ninos."[1] He realized that he
had extended his arm for the last time in their behalf, and that now
that frail support had been withdrawn. "At last the fatal moment came,
and, pronouncing clearly with his trembling lips the words 'Todo
mortal!', his pure and loving soul rose to its Creator."[2] He died
December 22, 1870.

[Footnote 1: This fact was learned from a conversation with Don
Francisco de Laiglesia, who, with Correa, Ferran and others, was
present when the poet breathed his last.]

[Footnote 2: Correa, _op. cit._, p. xx.]

Thanks to the initiative of Ramon Rodriguez Correa and to the aid of
other friends, most of the scattered tales, legends, and poems of
Becquer were gathered together and published by Fernando Fe, Madrid,
in three small volumes. In the Prologue of the first edition Correa
relates the life of his friend with sympathy and enthusiasm, and it is
from this source that we glean most of the facts that are to be known
regarding the poet's life. The appearance of these volumes caused a
marked effect, and their author was placed by popular edict in the
front rank of contemporary writers.

Becquer may be said to belong to the Romantic School, chief of whose
exponents in Spain were Zorilla and Espronceda. The choice of
mediaeval times as the scene of his stories, their style and
treatment, as well as the personal note and the freedom of his verse,
all stamp him as a Romanticist.

His legends, with one or two exceptions, are genuinely Spanish in
subject, though infused with a tender melancholy that recalls the
northern ballads rather than the writings of his native land. His love
for old ruins and monuments, his archaeological instinct, is evident
in every line. So, too, is his artistic nature, which finds a greater
field for its expression in his prose than in his verse. Add to this a
certain bent toward the mysterious and supernatural, and we have the
principal elements that enter into the composition of these legends,
whose quaint, weird beauty not only manifests the charm that naturally
attaches to popular or folk tales, but is due especially to the way in
which they are told by one who was at once an artist and a poet.

Zorill