A common twelfth-century topos, the pessimistic view of the present often, as it does here, constitutes “a form of social criticism,” since highlighting the corruption of the current age has the potential to prompt reform.60 Pessimism, then, is not out of place in satire, as both draw attention to moral decay. All three of these additions expand the critique of the court; its inconstancy was the sole concern of the earlier version. By widening the scope of the introduction to include jealousy, hypocrisy, and the promotion of the undeserving—all commonplaces in twelfth-century critiques of the court—Walter gives a more accurate representation of what follows. Moreover, this new section anticipates the juxtaposition of moderni and antiqui—another favorite topos of twelfth-century literature, and one that Walter often invokes.61 In particular, this passage ironically sets up one of the better jokes in the De nugis curialium, in which the incessant wandering of Henry II’s court is not a creation of the present, but rather an inheritance from an ancient king’s entourage, who “have passed down their wanderings” (suos tradiderint errores) to the present court.62 Walter took pains to get his introduction right: he added three sections that introduce common themes in distinctio 1. Moreover, he has altered the original introductory paragraph to extend the court-as-time metaphor, and he has incorporated an apt reference to Boethius.
Given this thorough revision, it is in some ways ironic that Walter decided to conclude the new introduction with a passage that reinforces his critical reputation as a flighty writer:
De curia nobis origo sermonis, et quo iam deuenit? Sic incidunt semper aliqua que licet non multum ad rem, tamen differri nolunt, nec refert, dum non atrum desinant in piscem, et rem poscit apte quod instat.
(The beginning of our discussion concerned the court, but it has already gone off course! Yes, some things always arise which are perhaps not very relevant but refuse to be put off. Yet as long as they do not end in a black fish and as long as the discussion at hand fittingly calls for the matter, it does not make a difference.)63
Certainly, these lines have served as one of the first indications of Walter’s “waywardness”—he is incapable of finishing the introduction without embarking on a distracting tangent!64 However, the care with which Walter has revised the entire introduction shows that this waywardness is a carefully constructed conceit, and not a spontaneous, unaffected moment of self-awareness from our harried courtier. To ward off accusations that his digressions are inappropriate, Walter slyly invokes the beginning of Horace’s Ars poetica, in which the narrator describes a painter setting the head of a lovely woman on top of a horse’s neck, which itself is attached to a feathered body composed of various limbs. This ungainly image “shamefully ends in a black fish” (turpiter atrum / desinat in piscem).65 For Horace, one of Walter’s favorite authors, such a painting shows that a unified form is expected in art; deviations will be met with ridicule. Walter’s own claim that diverse topics are acceptable “as long as they do not end in a black fish” (dum non atrum desinant in piscem) shows that his writing, in his own estimation at least, holds to a unified form.
Perhaps a better illustration of what a unified order meant for Walter is found in his contemporary Geoffrey of Vinsauf’s Poetria nova (ca. 1208–13), a work that became extraordinarily popular. This treatise explains that order over one’s material can be imposed naturally, with a straightforward order, or through “the by-paths of art”: “This order, though reversed, is more pleasant and by far better than the straightforward order. The latter is sterile, but the former fertile, from its marvelous source sending out more branches from the parent trunk, changing one branch into many, a single into several, one into eight.”66 This principle helps explain Walter’s system of arrangement not only in the introduction, but also the work as a whole. Rather than a general satire of twelfth-century life, systematically exhausting one topic before moving to another, distinctio 1 moves organically from topic to topic, following strands before doubling back to return to the point. This technique is visible throughout the De nugis curialium, as almost all episodes move to the next with clear transitions. Walter’s defense of his digressions thus explicitly announces that his narrative will not proceed in what Geoffrey of Vinsauf calls a “natural order,” strictly following chronological or logical arrangement. Another useful point of comparison is the Disciplina clericalis of Peter Alfonsi, a work that Walter probably knew.67 Walter’s interlinking of chapters is so similar to Peter’s own technique of linking together groups of similar (and sometimes dissimilar) stories that he may well have modeled his own narrative style after it, especially in distinctiones 1, 2 and 4.68 Indeed, most of the De nugis curialium progresses steadily in an artful, leisurely manner, with Walter linking stories together with quick transitions. The apparent digressions are exactly what give long sections of the De nugis curialium their self-sustained unity. Walter’s seemingly candid admission of waywardness is in fact a planned and studied conclusion to a meticulously rewritten introduction.
Whoever invented the chapter headings for the only surviving copy of the De nugis curialium has done Walter no favors in this regard. (As discussed in detail in the next chapter, Walter did not write these headings.) The entire introduction up to Walter’s defense of his digressions is served by one chapter title, “Assimulacio curie regis ad infernum” (A comparison of the king’s court to hell).69 But like many of the headings, this one poorly describes what follows. Consequently, Walter’s own organizational strategy is often obscured in modern editions and translations of the text. A better heading for the first twelve chapters of distinctio 1 might be something along of the lines of “Diffinicio curie” (A definition of the court), since they all consist of Walter trying to make sense in one way or another of the court—its changeability, judgment, avarice, torment, and ungovernableness. And, as noted above, Walter twice makes explicit mention of his attempt to define (diffinire) the court. Moreover, in a lively example of arrangement through the “by-paths of art,” these first twelve sections move seamlessly from defining the court, to arguing that the court, like hell, is a place of torment, to describing Walter’s own ungovernable household (which explains in miniature why the court is ungovernable), to narrating the history of King Herla, which itself humorously provides an explanatory myth for the court’s inconstancy, the very subject that opens the work. These chapters end with the tale of the king of Portugal, which illustrates the deceit and envy typical of courtiers. All of these episodes work to satirically explain and define the twelfth-century court. And, to adapt Walter’s own phrase, all of these episodes are called for by the discussion at hand.
Another major addition to the beginning of the De nugis curialium is Walter’s apology for Henry II. In the earlier version, the king takes some blame for his court’s misconduct: “The king of this court, if he knows it well, is not free from blame, since he who is a ruler is obligated to be a reformer.”70 Most of the blame, however, lies with deceitful courtiers who purposefully misdirect the king, distracting