Allegory of Good Government

Abstract

Allegory of Good Government Maura Stanton (bio) after the frescos of Ambrogio Lorenzetti Peace lounges in her see-through negligee,a soldier's uniform rolled under the pillowthat props her elbow, both her feet bareas if there's nothing to do now exceptslumber a bit, then get up and dance.Near her on the ornate brocade sofa,Fortitude looks wistful, clenching a staff,while Prudence in a veil is making lace—or is she plucking a zither? Hard to tell.Three other women sit on another sofa,one holding a basket, one an hourglass,and one a sword—and on her knee, Wow!the severed male head she's just cut off:Magnanimity, Temperance, and Justice,these three are called, all six womenparts of the allegory of Good Governmenton the walls of the Palazzo Publicohere in Siena, in the Hall of the Ninewhere I'm so glad to escape the heatI'm spending time looking at the detailsI might brush past if it were cooler out.This scene—it could be my own familygathered at my mother's house in the '90sto celebrate someone's birthday or promotion,sisters and sisters-in-law crowded togetherdrinking fizzy pink wine and gossipingabout friends, co-workers, or a bad bosswho probably looked a lot like that headbalanced on its ear, the hair mussed upbecause Justice has tugged off its gold crownand keeps it nestled in her lap for safekeeping. [End Page 187] But when I turn I see the other wall.The horned Tyrant of Bad Governmentlooms from the damaged fresco, his feet proppedon the goat of Luxury. He's got sofas, too,for friends and family, with lots of roomfor Cruelty, Deceit, and charming Fraudwho looks like an angel—with claws, not feet.On his left side the beast Fury pranceswhile clever Division works her tool,and War's dressed in the armor that Peacethinks she's hidden under her tasseled pillow.Siena's a ruin, houses tumbling down,no one at work except the armorer,and no one on the streets except Justice,in her red gown, shield up, her sword gone,getting arrested by men in peaked hatswho drag her off to the right of the fresco.That's her again, stripped of her gown,tied up by the feet, head down, arms bound. Another tourist bumps me so I move onto the Cappella dei Signoriwhere I try to distract my uneasy thoughtsby looking up at the vaulted ceilingthat Taddeo di Bartolo painted after the plague.Here, thirty-two angels play instruments,dancing as they ripple, blow, or beattheir antique horns and harps and tambourines,their double flutes and lutes the size of melons.You can almost hear them, someone cries,and I almost can as I look at their delightin kicking the ether, held up by bright wings.And passing back through the Hall of the NineI glance again at Peace. She hears them, too,one foot tapping to their heavenly musicas she sprawls on Good Government's sofawishing she could fall asleep. But she can't.Like a TV screen flickering forever,Bad Government's unfolding on the other wall,as fools and phantoms emerge yet againthrough damaged plaster to delude and spoil. [End Page 188] Maura Stanton Maura Stanton's first book of poetry, Snow on Snow (1975), was selected by Stanley Kunitz for the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award. She has published five other books of poetry, including Life Among the Trolls (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1998) and Immortal Sofa (University of Illinois Press, 2008), as well as a novel and three books of short stories. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Hudson Review, Yale Review, Upstreet, Cincinnati Review, Baltimore Review, Measure, Numero Cinq, and the Golden Shovel Anthology. Her story "Oh Shenandoah," published in NER, won an O. Henry Award in 2014. Copyright © 2017 Middlebury College Publications