Many of the earliest poems extant in Castilian are anonymous, impersonal compositions, more or less imitative. The _Misterio de los Reyes Magos_, for instance, is suggested by a Latin Office used at Orleans; the _Libro de Apolonio_, the _Vida de Santa María Egipciacqua_, the _Libro dels tres Reyes dorient_, and the _Libro de Alixandre_ are from French sources. French influence is likewise visible in the work of Gonzalo de Berceo, the earliest Spanish poet whose name we know for certain; writing in the first half of the thirteenth century, Berceo draws largely on the _Miracles de Nostre Dame_, a collection of edifying legends versified by Gautier de Coinci, Prior of the monastery at Vic-sur-Aisne. As Gautier died in 1236, the speed with which his version of these pious stories passed from France to Spain goes to show that literary communication had already been established between the two countries. At one time or another during the Middle Ages all Western Europe followed the French lead in literature. From about 1130, when Konrad wrote his _Rolandslied_, French influence prevailed in Germany for a century, affecting poets so considerable as Hartmann von Aue, Wolfram von Eschenbach, and Gottfried von Strassburg. French influence was dominant in Italy from before the reign of Frederick II., the patron of the Provençal poets and the chief of the Sicilian school of poetry, till the coming of Dante; French versions of tales of Troy, Alexander, Cæsar and Charlemagne were translated; so also were French versions of the Arthurian legend, as we gather from the celebrated passage in the fifth canto of the _Inferno_:— 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.