O Spenserians! I bet you thought I forgot about you! Never fear– the latest (ish) from the FQ awaits…
Arthur goes out riding and finds two ladies, whom we happen to know! Aemylia and Amoret, both in a fairly desperate way… What have they been up to while we have been watching Timias while away his youth in sorrow? Oddly enough, it seems like no time has elapsed for them, prompting us to wonder exactly what happens to the characters, if anything, when we’re not looking. They catch Arthur up on their goings-on and we get the story of their captivity and fight with Lust again. We were not entirely sure what to make of this retelling, which seems fairly unnecessary as far as reminders go, but we wondered about whether the poem might be interested in establishing other narrators, decentralizing the creative power through the introduction of more and more mediators.
Thankfully, Arthur helps the gals and they go off together and find a little cottage where they decide to stay for the night, though unfortunately for really all involved, the cottage belongs to Sclaunder, and she is NOT happy to have them. I kind of felt bad for Sclaunder though. She reminded me a bit of Error, who is just minding her own business when Redcrosse and Una barge into her home. She didn’t seem like an entirely happy figure to me. Some of the allegorical figures don’t seem bothered by the traits that they exhibit, but others, like Care, and maybe, I suggest, like Sclaunder, suffer while fulfilling their allegorical duties. I was specifically taken by the concept of “backbiting” and the fact that the trio are completely unbothered and have a cheery evening in her house while she mopes and scolds and rails at them. She is truly the only one having a bad time.
Then there is this kind of crazy narratorial insertion where suddenly the “I” reasserts itself, in the middle of the canto rather than at the end, to tell us that hospitality just ain’t what it used to be! There was once a time when people behaved well and welcomed each other into their homes and everything was beautiful, but sadly, it is now gone. We wondered why the “I” felt the need to get involved here, and suggested that perhaps it was to make up for the Hag’s lack of hospitality? Maybe the narrator felt the need to take over some hosting duties and set the scene and make us comfortable? But why is the narrator so bothered when none of the characters are? My zany theory was that maybe much like the way that Lust used Amoret as a human shield, the narrator uses himself as a human shield, throwing himself between us and Sclaunder as a way to keep her vice from spreading. Telling us what she says, letting us encounter her, would only multiply her power. Instead, the narrator puts himself between her and us, mediating so that we don’t get exposed to any of that. A quarantine procedure?