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 him with hunting and flattery. The king, Walter explains in a memorable phrase, “is like a husband who is the last to learn that his wife has strayed.”71 In this earlier version, the king is guilty of ignorance. In rewriting this section, however, Walter adopts a more conciliatory tone toward Henry, saying, “Nor can we cast blame upon our lord and ruler, since in this world nothing is free from disturbance, and no one is able to enjoy any kind of tranquillity for long.”72 In lieu of blaming deceitful and ambitious courtiers for the king’s ignorance—matters that have already been discussed—Walter rewrites this section to include a long but very humorous analogy that excuses the king’s inability to manage his own court. Walter admits that through fraud and trickery his own household servants have thoroughly defeated him, with the result that his household no longer belongs to him but to his servants. After describing a few of these entertaining deceptions in detail, Walter announces that he has cataloged his own humiliation “for the benefit of our king.”73 “How,” he asks, “will he keep thousands and thousands in check and guide them toward peace, even though typical householders like us are unable to control a few servants?”74 Why Walter changes his tone toward the king in this passage is hard to tell. Certainly, while Walter’s exasperation at his own household is more charming and original than stock complaints against scheming courtiers, there remains the possibility that he thought better of airing a grievance against the king in public.75
The tale of the militant monk of Cluny also undergoes major revision. In the earlier version in distinctio 4, Walter tells of a well-heeled man who, after leaving his land and wealth to his sons, decides to become a monk of Cluny.76 After a few years in the monastery, he is asked to return to his native country to serve as an adviser. His abbot grudgingly permits him to leave the monastery but asks the monk to swear not to take up arms. The monk accedes to his abbot’s wish. Eventually, however, war engulfs the monk’s country, and, in the heat of the battle, the monk finds himself unarmed in the middle of his force, which is outnumbered and in retreat. Against his oath, he dons his armor, seizes his weapons, rouses his men, and leads his army to victory. Unused to such exertion—monastic life has apparently dulled his martial skills—he takes off part of his armor to rest and is promptly struck by an enemy’s well-aimed arrow. Dying and finding no one fit for receiving his confession, he enjoins a small boy to do so, after which the repentant monk dies.
In this early version in distinctio 4, the tale of the Cluniac monk falls in the middle of a series of tales “about deaths in which God’s judgment is uncertain.”77 In the tale that follows that of the Cluniac monk, God’s judgment remains uncertain in a very literal fashion.78 A knight of Brittany finds his deceased wife among a great band of women at night in a deserted area, in what seems to be a gathering of otherworldly fairies. Working up his courage, the knight snatches his wife away. Seemingly against the laws of nature, they live together for many years, and she even bears him children. Was she really dead? Moreover, the tale preceding the Cluniac monk’s concerns Eudo, an impoverished nobleman who makes a deal with the devil to regain wealth and influence. With eternal damnation imminent, Eudo seeks penance from an angry bishop who hastily replies that for his extraordinary sins Eudo should leap into a fire. Without hesitation Eudo jumps into the flames and burns to ashes. The readers and hearers of this tale are then asked to debate “if this knight had the correct zeal”—that is, will he be saved?79 Indeed, the ending of the Cluniac monk’s tale echoes this question in its last words: “The monk passed away in the faith of Christ and with good hope and inflamed zeal of penance.”80 Readers here are also asked if the monk’s confession to the young boy outweighs the breaking of his oath of pacifism to his abbot: the tale begins, “One can also question the salvation of a monk of Cluny.”81 All three of these deaths involve some type of uncertainty, whether spiritual or literal.
Dubious deaths, the context of the early version of the tale of the militant monk of Cluny, are one of Walter’s favorite topics, but in his revision of this tale Walter leaves them aside in an effort to focus on the elements of sin and penance. Here in distinctio 1, it fits comfortably into the series of stories concerning “recent events” that Walter places immediately after the tale of King Herla.82 Its new context contains an exemplary story of the king of Portugal, a small encomium of the bishop of London, Walter’s distress at the fall of Jerusalem in 1187, and, most important, an account of Guichard III of Beaujeu (d.1137). Guichard retires to the monastery of Cluny in his old age and becomes an excellent poet. However, much to the dismay of his abbot, Guichard interrupts his leisure to retake his land from his rebellious son. After a successful military campaign, Guichard returns to Cluny, remains faithful to his vows, and dies a good death. Walter follows Guichard’s tale with the militant monk of Cluny, which, though removed from its earlier context of dubious deaths in distinctio 4, sits happily in its new surroundings in distinctio
