Meanwhile, Arthur and his ladies are back on the road. Sclaunder can’t help following them and railing ‘till she had all her poyson spent’ (xxxv) and ‘Till she had duld the sting, which in her tongs end grew’ (xxxvi). We wondered: is slander something that can run out, and then has to be renewed? Is it a compulsion? We couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her; she’s likened to a cur biting a stone ‘which passed straunger at him threw’. Why throw a stone at a dog minding its own business? Speaking of dogs, we wondered why Spenser returns to slander in the figure of the Blatant Beast in Book VI. Is representing slander also a compulsion, like the act of slandering?
We tried to think of other times when more than one allegorical figure represents the same concept. Corflambo, riding furiously into view on his camel, seems like another allegory of Lust, though in a less allegorical mode. We wondered whether Muslims are beyond friendship in the poem’s imagination (though Paeana, Corflambo’s daughter, is going to be allowed into the marital fold soon). Corflambo’s kills people by looking at them. The problem with looking at Lust is that you may become lustful. What is the relationship here between looking and being looked at?
I wondered why Arthur can’t carry his own stuff (xxxvii). Unlike a Boy Scout, he doesn’t seem prepared. Jeewon pointed out that Arthur and Sclaunder both exhibit physical weakness: Sclaunder rails until she dulls her tongue, and Arthur is ‘sore annoyd’ by his needments.
Corflambo is chasing (and raging after) a Squire, Placidas. Arthur fortunately slews Corflambo and rescues Placidas, who then tells us his story: that his best friend, a squire of low degree named Amyas, loved a lady (whom we happen to know – it’s Aemelia!), but, having been imprisoned by Corflambo and unable to marry her, he found himself in the hands of Corflambo’s daughter, Paeana. He responded to her advances up to a point (Placidas tells us that Amyas ‘walked about her gardens of delight’, so take from that what you will). This is not good news for Aemelia, but fortunately, BFFs Amyas and Placidas are identical (makes perfect sense), so Placidas was able to sub in for him in prison! Confusingly, he doesn’t use this tactic to break Amyas out, rather tells him some news from the outside world and then leaves again himself (not before accepting some of Paeana’s advances). Corflambo pursues, and here we are. Aemelia is happy to hear tidings of her love, though Placidas amusingly assures everyone that Amyas loves him best (lvii).
The idea of an identical best friend, Mary Kate pointed out, is Ciceronian: the alter idem (other self). This seems like the opposite of Montaigne’s famous line about me being me and him being him (which insists on difference). Jeewon wondered about the economy of switching in this poem. Things being substitutable for other things is necessary for commerce; is it also necessary for social life? In Shakespearean comedy, one body is often as good as another, and Paeana will end up being satisfied by marrying Placidas, not Amyas. Aemelia, however, is not confused: she immediately knows it’s Placidas and not her lover (lxii).
Placidas’s story is continuous and not as mystifying as the narrator often is. Simultaneity seems to be the privilege of the narrator. We’re in a part of the poem over-populated by people telling stories. But is there poetry in The Faerie Queene, or only narrative? No one ever seems to fabulate or make things up, unless they’re a baddie, in which case they may lie.