La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante:
Galeotto fu il libro e chi lo scrisse:
Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante.
You all know that French influence was most noticeable in England from Layamon’s time to Chaucer’s, and that Chaucer himself, besides translating part of the Roman de la Rose, borrowed hints from Guillaume de Machault and Oton de Granson—two minor poets whose works, by the way, were treasured by the Marqués de Santillana, of whom I shall have something to say in the next lecture. Wherever we turn at this period, sooner or later we shall find that French literature has left its mark. Scandinavian scholars inform us that the Strengleikar includes translations of Marie de France’s lais; and Floire et Blanchefleur was also done into Icelandic at the beginning of the fourteenth century when the Archpriest of Hita—who refers appreciatively to this French romance—was still young. Jean Bodel’s well-worn couplet is a trite statement of fact:—
Ne sont que trois matières à nul homme attendant,
De France et de Bretaigne et de Rome le grant.
This rapid summary is enough to prove that Spain, in copying French originals, was doing no more than other countries. The work of her early singers has the interest which attaches to every new literary experiment, but the great mass of it necessarily lacks originality and force. It was not until the fourteenth century was fairly advanced that Spain produced two authors of unmistakable individual genius. One of these was the Infante Don Juan Manuel, the earliest prose-writer of real distinction in Castilian, and the other was Juan Ruiz, Archpriest of Hita, near Guadalajara. We know scarcely anything certain about Ruiz except his name and status which he gives incidentally when invoking the divine assistance in writing his work:—
E por que de todo bien es comienço e rays
la virgen santa marja por ende yo Joan Rroys
açipreste de fita della primero fis