"THE 18th century killed our national literature," declared a Spanish author who did not live long enough to witness the rescusitation brought about by Romanticism. The glorious reputation Calderon, Cervantes, Quevedo, and others had acquired for Spanish letters was completely overclouded by the ascension of the Bourbons, under whom the intellect, at least, of the country was reduced to that of an outlying French province. The pseudo classics, who ruled so heavily under the kindred Kings of France and Spain, made good the regal boast, so far as the mental divisions of the two nations were concerned, that the Pyrenees were abolished. Iberian peninsula was completely flooded by an inundation of those mediocrity men who had converted Gaul into a sham Arcadia of fictitious loves and metaphorical feelings, but who now only survive in Boileau's

verse:

The

been maltreated it had not been extirpated. The new school attained its highest development in poetry with Espronceda, whilst in fiction, that branch of the Belles Lettres for which Iberia has ever been famous, it culminated in the works of a woman. Spain has been richly endowed with female talent, and in "Fernan Caballero " gained a novelist and describer of national manners of rare power and genius. It is a singular, and probably an unparalleled circumstance that this celebrated authoress was an alien, by both parentage and birthplace, to the country on which she has reflected so much fame.

The father of "Fernan Caballero," Johan Nikolas Böhl von Faber, was the son of a wealthy merchant of Hamburg (in which city he was born), and was himself an author of some reputation. Böhl's own life, as described in a series of charming letters printed in Germany but never published, is most interesting. His correspondence reveals a character near akin to that his daughter'sjudging from her works and the few biographical facts known to usmay be deemed to resemble. Combined with large knowledge of humanity is niaiserie a child might smile at; with extensive reading, and a wide range of acquirements, naïveté of expression scarcely credible, and, after a lengthy career of indulgence and laudation, a humility almost infantile in character. The idiosyncrasies of the father were inherited by the daughter.

In the latter half of the past century the Böhls' was one of the largest mercantile establishments in the world, in the magnitude of its transactions rivalling Hope, of Amsterdam, and Barings, of London. Johan, the eldest son of the firm's founder, was born in 1770. When fourteen he was sent to Andover, and after a year's English schooling had to cross over to Cadiz, where his father had a branch establishment. He spent several years in the uncongenial atmosphere of the office, varied by journies to Germany and France, and in accumulating books, chiefly of old poetry. Among the volumes which he received from home it is not unnoteworthy that his mother sent him a native work on the "Civic Rights of Woman." His continuous building of "castles in the air" was broken in upon by his marriage, early in 1796, with Frasquita de Larea, the daughter of an Irishman. Though educated in England and France, and speaking the languages of both countries equally well, Frasquita was innately Spanish. German, notwithstanding residence in her husband's country and long study, she never could learn. With his wife and his mother, Böhl spent the autumn and winter in Switzerland, and in the beginning of 1797 his first child, a daughter, was born at Morges, and was named Cæcilia, after her paternal grandmother. From Switzerland the family removed to Hamburg, where Böhl proposed to reside, but found that he had reckoned without his mother-inlaw! She and his wife both disliked the cold Protestant country, where speech, manners, and customs were so foreign to them; so ultimately they went back to Spain. The mother-in-law did not like the sea, so they returned vid France; and in Paris, so Böhl's correspondence reveals, little Caecilia's teeth

ing caused considerable trouble to the party.

In 1805 the Böhls revisited Hamburg, and when, in the following year, they returned to Spain, Cæcilia and a brother Juan were left behind at school, the father wishing them to receive a German education. What ultimately became of the boy is not known, but the girl later on became the famous authoress, now generally known by the masculine nom de plume of "Fernan Caballero." Of Böhl it may be added, that as long as he lived his wife's tertulias, or evening receptions, were the chief rendezvous of the Conservative party in Cadiz, but the probability is that when he died in November, 1836, after a long and painful illness, his family's wealth had become somewhat too reduced to carry on such entertainments. Recalled to Spain and married when she was but seventeen, "Fernan Caballero," as we shall now style her, may be said to have wedded trouble, somewhat more than metaphorically. Like all writers of genius she, undoubtedly, described many of her own experiences under the guise of fiction, and, probably, in her supernatural story of "La Higa del Sol," she states her own case when she says that the heroine "was united to her husband without either wishing for or opposing the union, upon this, as upon all other occasions, following the suggestion of her mother without offering any remonstrance." Be this as it may, "Fernan Caballero" was speedily left a widow. It was not long before she contracted a second marriage, this time with the Marquis de Arco Hermoso, and in 1835 was left a widow for the second time. time. At the expiration of two years she again ventured upon matrimony, being married to Don A. d'Arrom, who died, self-slain, in England in 1863. For some years

the widowed Marchioness lived in the royal Alcázar at Seville, in apartments placed at her disposal by Queen Isabella. When the revolution of 1868 deposed the Bourbon sovereign, "Fernan Caballero" removed to a house in the Calle de Burgos, and resided there until her death on the 7th of last April. Such are all the events that are known of this authoress's life a life, doubtless, full of real incident, and replete with the sorrows and cares that assail all who attain, as she did, the threescore and ten years assigned to mortality. A detailed memoir, with correspondence and biographical data, may, and probably will, some day appear, but it is in her literary works that her true character must be sought for: there her thoughts, sympathies, and aversions, as well as the manners and customs of her adopted countrymen, will be found detailed with the vraisemblance of nature itself.

It was in 1849, in the columns of a newspaper, that "Fernan Caballero" made her literary début. It is needless to speculate upon the motives that impelled one who so detested journalism and its aims to publish her first story en feuilleton in a paper, but, whatever her reason, the result was most successful. As will be seen, she did not begin to publish until she had attained the mature age of 52, when she commenced a series of literary triumphs with "La Gaviota," a novel, and concluded her life, in the 81st year of her age, simultaneously with the publication of her last book, the printing of the final sheet of which almost coincided with the day of her death. It is probable that some of her writings had been completed in manuscript long before they were published, for, until within the last few years, Spanish publishers were rarely to be found willing or even

able to produce original works: anything beyond religious books being usually printed and issued by the Crown. So well did "Fernan Caballero" comprehend the difficulties of obtaining a Spanish audience for her works that, it is averred, she originally wrote "La Gaviota " in French, as she did "La Familia de Alvareda" in German. This latter romance she re-wrote in Spanish at the solicitation, so it is believed, of Washington Irving. It is another strange fact in her abnormal literary story, that her first production was, in nearly every. respect, her best; whilst her latest was her least meritorious. Most of her novels, tales, and miscellaneous writings have been translated into the leading languages of Europe, but when one sees how vapid in the best translators' hands becomes their seasoning of "Sal Andaluz "

which is as famed in Spain as Attic wit in the classic world-it makes us thankful that "Fernan Caballero " ultimately abandoned the idea of publishing them in French or German. That she entertained a fondness for Teutonic authorcraft, as well as a knowledge of its literature, many of her writings testify, but "Sola," which was printed in Hamburg, is the only German work by her which we know of.

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Plot is not "Fernan Caballero's forte: it is in her faithful reproduction of peasant life, especially that of Andalusia, that she is at her best. In her portrayal of the common types of the Spanish peasant her lines have all the fidelity of a canvas by Teniers, but when she attempts to depicture high life, or even middle-class society, her pen almost invariably loses its cunning, and her spells are broken. That she knew her own power the quotation from De Molène, with which she introduced her first book, would seem to shew:-"There is in

this slight picture that which ought to please novelty and nature." "La Gaviota," or "The Sea-Gull," as her earliest publication is named, is a term familiarly applied on the Andalusian coast to an imprudent, conceited, saucy woman, such as Marisalada, the heroine of the work, is represented to be; she received the cognomen from Momo, a lad whom she had but too truthfully called "Romo " (snub-nose). A slight and necessarily concise résumé of this picturesque story, with the citation of a few of the most characteristic passages, will probably be the best and most interesting method of portraying the idiosyncrasies of "Fernan Caballero."

The story is divided into two parts, the first portion (excepting the opening chapter) being devoted to the description of Andalusian life in the little seaport of Vallamar. The first scene is laid on board an English steam-boat, and in the month of November, 1836. Most of the passengers are suffering from mal de mer, but one of them, the authoress patriotically observes, by his elegance, his physiognomy, the grace with which he muffled himself in his cloak, his insensibility to the cold, and to the general discomfort, clearly betrayed his Spanish nationality. This is the Duke de Almansa, a Castilian "Admirable Crichton." He is introduced as exercising his generosity by bestowing a valuable cloak upon a fellow traveller, who is sadly in want of such a comfort. The recipient of this charity is Fritz Stein, a young German student of the Werther type, who is on his way to the scene of the Carlist rebellion, in hopes of obtaining professional employment. The Spanish grandee also gives him his card, the company of his servant to Seville, and letters of recommendation to the Commander-in-Chief and the

Minister of War. Unfortunately, these testimonials do not appear to have proved of much value to Stein, the hero of the tale, for two years later he is found footsore, hungry and poverty-stricken, wandering across a desert in the vicinity of Vallamar. After an adventure with a wild bull, the young medical man reaches the door of a dilapidated convent, and there swoons. This great rambling building is in charge of a family, who succour the German, and put him to bed. The way in which his needs are attended to by the family grandmother, "Aunt" Maria, and her alter ego, the lay brother Gabriel, are thus described:

:

"Aunt Maria and Brother Gabriel vied with each other in their attention to the invalid, but differed as to the method that should be adopted for his cure. Aunt Maria, without ever having read Brown, was for warm broths and comforting tonics, because the patient was very weak, and half starved. Brother Gabriel, without having even heard of the name of Broussais, suggested cooling draughts, because, in his opinion, the man had brain fever, his blood being inflamed and his skin burning. Both were right; the double system, composed of Aunt Maria's soups and Brother Gabriel's lemonades, was so successful that Stein recovered life and health, the very day the good woman killed her last fowl, and the lay brother picked

the last lemon on the tree.

'Brother Gabriel,' said Aunt Maria, 'what profession do you think our invalid belongs to? Military?'

'It is very probable that he is military,' responded the brother, who was accustomed to regard Aunt Maria as an oracle, and always, save in points of horticulture and medicine, to hold no opinion but hers. Thus he almost

mechanically repeated whatever she

said.

'No, he can't be that either,' continued she, shaking her head. 'If he were military he would have arms, and he has not got any. When I folded up his coat to put it away, I