Las orejas mayores que de añal burrico, el su pescueço negro, ancho, velloso, chico, las narises muy gordas, luengas, de çarapico, beueria en pocos djas cavdal de buhon rico. He thinks nothing beneath his notice, takes you with him into convent-kitchens and lets you listen to Trotaconventos while she rattles off the untranslatable names of the dainties which mitigate the nuns’ austerities:— Comjnada, alixandria, conel buen diagargante, el diaçitron abatys, con el fino gengibrante, mjel rrosado, diaçimjnjo, diantioso va delante, e la rroseta nouela que deujera desjr ante. adraguea e alfenjque conel estomatricon, e la garriofilota con dia margariton, tria sandalix muy fyno con diasanturion, que es, para doñear, preciado e noble don. And, in the same precise way, he satisfies your intelligent curiosity as to musical instruments:— araujgo non quiere la viuela de arco, çiufonja, gujtarra non son de aqueste marco, çitola, odreçillo non amar caguyl hallaço, mas aman la tauerna e sotar con vellaco. albogues e mandurria caramjllo e çanpolla non se pagan de araujgo quanto dellos boloña.... The medley is sometimes incoherent, but even when most diffuse it never fails to entertain. To us the vivid rendering of small, characteristic particulars is a source of delight. The Archpriest threw it off as a matter of course; but he piqued himself on the boldness of his metrical innovations, and he had good reason to be proud. Most of his verses are written in the quatrain of the _mester de clerecía_, or _quaderna vía_—an adaptation of the French alexandrine or ‘fourteener’—but he imparts to the measure a new flexibility, and he attempts rhythmical experiments, moved by a desire to transplant to Castile the metrical devices which had already penetrated into Portugal and Galicia from Northern France and Provence. But the Archpriest has higher claims to distinction than any based on executive skill. He lends a distinct personal touch to all his subjects. He has an intense impression of the visible world, an imposing faculty of evocation, and what he saw we are privileged to see in his puissant and realistic transcription. Some modern Spaniards, with a show of indignation which seems quaint in countrymen of Cervantes and Quevedo, reject the notion that humour is a characteristic quality of the Spanish genius. We must bear these sputterings of storm with such equanimity as we can, and hope for finer weather. The fact remains: Juan Ruiz is the earliest of the great Spanish humourists; he is also the most eminent Spanish poet of the Middle Ages, and, all things considered, the most brilliant literary figure in Spanish history till the coming of Garcilaso de la Vega.