Illumination by Étienne Colaud, Livres des cas des nobles hommes et femmes – Of the Fates of Illustrious Men and Women, circa 1530 (detail). — Fate is blind. With eyes covered and head turned aside, Fortuna’s hand spins the wheel of fortune. Her black side suggests that she can bring bad luck just as easily as good, casting individuals down into the shadow realm of the dead. Illumination by Étienne Colaud, *Livres des cas des nobles hommes et femmes – Of the Fates of Illustrious Men and Women*, circa 1530 (detail). Bibliothèque Nationale de France / Wikimedia

O Fortuna! The wheel of fortune and luck

We humans are predisposed to brood over the changing nature of luck. The wheel of fortune has been turning since ancient times, and remains popular today. Around 1220, a rose window at Basel Cathedral was designed to resemble a wheel of fortune, homage was paid to the goddess Fortuna in a Bavarian monastery in the form of the Carmina Burana. Yet, undeserved luck plays no part in the Christian world view. Heavenly salvation is something that has to be earned.

Kurt Messmer

Kurt Messmer is a historian with a focus on history in public space.

According to an ancient Roman proverb, happiness does not lie in getting what you wish for, but in not coveting what fate denies you. Another adage of the time says that “Fortune is like glass – the brighter the glitter, the more easily it is broken”. It was a Roman historian in late antiquity who created the metaphor of the wheel of fortune. Following a turn of the rota fortunae, a previously happy person could find themselves the unhappiest of individuals over the course of a single evening.

But where is Fortuna?

On the northern facade of Basel Cathedral is an entrance known as the Galluspforte, an icon of medieval church architecture and piety, the oldest Romanesque portal in the German-speaking world to be adorned with human figures, built in 1185, and still remarkable today. The monumental rose window above it appears less hallowed due to the addition of a wheel of fortune – as if salvation were a matter of luck and not the Christian reward for abstinence and good deeds. A wheel of fortune without Fortuna? Where can she be? Nothing here alludes to the fickle goddess of fate. Perhaps the exposed location was not to her taste, causing her to keep her distance? The richly decorated portal actually demonstrates how the faithful can gain entry to heaven without any help from worldly destiny: in the lunette above the door, Jesus sits enthroned as the judge of the world, flanked by Saint Peter and Saint Paul, while the lintel depicts the parable of the ten wise and foolish virgins. There is no place here for a goddess of fate.

Basel Cathedral, northern transept, wheel of fortune above the Galluspforte, circa 1220; a tale of people cast down by fate (on the right), or lifted up by good fortune (on the left), carved in stone. — Basel Cathedral, northern transept, wheel of fortune above the *Galluspforte*, circa 1220; a tale of people cast down by fate (on the right), or lifted up by good fortune (on the left), carved in stone. © Kantonale Denkmalpflege Basel-Stadt und Münsterbauhütte Basel / Peter Schulthess

The wheel of fortune shows nine men and one woman: on the right hand side, those doomed to ruin, beginning with a master builder, his torso miraculously bent, followed by two figures plunging head over heels, then a child, and at the bottom a workman wielding a trowel.

the one on the left, who is rising, slumbers peacefully, unaware of his coming good fortune

The one on the right, who is falling, fearful yet defiant, struggles to escape his impending doom

Two master builders, identifiable by their headgear, on the wheel of fortune at Basel Cathedral. The one on the right, who is falling, fearful yet defiant, struggles to escape his impending doom; the one on the left, who is rising, slumbers peacefully, unaware of his coming good fortune. However, the two expressive figures do not belong to the same ‘generation’ and are not even to be found in the same place: the falling builder, an original dating back to 1220, is currently housed in the Museum Kleines Klingental, the ascending builder, a masterful copy created in 1986, remains in situ at Basel Cathedral. © Kantonale Denkmalpflege Basel-Stadt und Münsterbauhütte Basel / Peter Schulthess

Does the slumbering man have no idea of the good fortune that awaits him? Something he has probably been seeking his whole life, and now, when it is within his grasp, he lies asleep! Is he like Odysseus in Schiller’s moving poem where, after ten years of roving the seas, the hero awakes to find his ship has drifted to a shore that he fails to recognise as his much-yearned-for fatherland? Normally, a king sits enthroned at the top of the wheel of fortune. Not so in Basel. The figure at the wheel’s zenith, which was replaced in 2016, wears a broad-brimmed hat in place of a crown.

A child, tumbling head over heels, presumably a copy created during the 1761−1771 restoration of the Basel wheel of fortune. Together with this juvenile, an old man and several adults allude to the ages of humankind, although not in any strict sequence. The ranks of the medieval hierarchy, a typical feature of ‘danse macabre’ cycles, are not personified here. Proof? The two master builders on either side of the wheel are of equal social standing. © Kantonale Denkmalpflege Basel-Stadt und Münsterbauhütte Basel / Peter Schulthess

Did people looking at this wheel of fortune centuries ago feel the same way we do today? Do basic anthropological constants even exist? It is not uncommon for the sources to remain silent about the very things we would particularly like to know more about.

What is original at the original location?

Sandstone is not chromium steel. Eight hundred years of history have not failed to leave their mark on the red sandstone of the Galluspforte. Over time, certain elements have had to be repaired or even replaced. In 1885, eight of the ten figures on the wheel of fortune, which had taken on a baroque form over the years, were replaced, with four of them being recreated from drawings. Three-dimensional copies based on two-dimensional designs? Needs must. The other two figures had also been replaced by 2016. Not a single one of the figures on today’s wheel of fortune at Basel Cathedral is an original.

Spokes and hub of the late Romanesque oak rosette, 1224/25, on display in the Museum Kleines Klingental. — The circular opening of the rose window at Basel Cathedral, embellished with a zig-zag band and inwardly stepped edges, has always been made of stone. But the spokes and hub of the late Romanesque rosette were originally fashioned from oak wood. Dendrochronologically dated to 1224/25, they are now exhibited at the Museum Kleines Klingental. The oak was only replaced with sandstone in the 1880s. © Kantonale Denkmalpflege Basel-Stadt und Münsterbauhütte Basel / Peter Schulthess

What remains of the originals can be seen in the museum; the copies at the Cathedral give us an idea of what the wheel may originally have looked like. In this way, it is not only the craftsmanship of the builders and masons of 800 years ago that is documented, but also how their work has been treated over the course of time. A superb stroke of luck in cultural history terms, as befits the subject. Copies are not usually accorded much value. This is just a copy. The falling child on the wheel of fortune at Basel Cathedral, created around 1770, is also merely a copy, but it brings happiness too ‒ to the person who fashioned it and to those who look at it.

“Oh Fortune, like the moon you are changeable, ever waxing and waning!”

As if our last hour had come or as if we needed to be roused by the beat of a drum, the opening chorus of Carmina Burana begins thunderously. Fortuna is invoked, Imperatrix Mundi – empress of the world, and compared with the ever-changing moon. Around 1230, two unknown scribes set down a collection of songs on 119 sheets of parchment. In 1803, the codex was named after the place in which it was found, Benediktbeuern Abbey in Bavaria, Germany, hence the name Carmina Burana – Songs from Beuren. We are not sure whether the manuscript was actually written there.

Sors immanis et inanis,
rota tu volubilis

“Fate, monstrous and empty, you ever-turning wheel”. From the opening chorus of ‘Carmina Burana’, entitled O Fortuna

Unlike the manuscript’s place of origin, we do know that the scenic cantata composed by Carl Orff in 1936, based on 24 songs from the codex, has now become the most widely performed choral work for orchestras around the world. It required more than a little good fortune to create this enchanting mix of medieval texts and archaic sounding music in the 20th century. The stars had to align.

Medieval song manuscripts are seldom illuminated. The Carmina Burana is an exception. The codex contains colourful initials as well as plentiful drawings and paintings. And, unlike the wheel of fortune in Basel, where neither Fortuna nor rulers are depicted, here the crowned goddess of fate is seated demonstratively at the centre of the rota fortunae, surrounded only by kings. While the monarch at the top proclaims: regno – I reign, the second king’s crown falls from his head as he tumbles: regnavi – I reigned; the one at the bottom laments: sum sine regno – I have no kingdom, whereas the ascending king triumphantly states: regnabo – I will reign. YouTube / Bavarian State Library

Authentic – clichéd attributions are more than commonplace today, and not just at self-styled medieval markets. But in the case of this collection of songs from the 11th, 12th and early 13th centuries, it is justified. The texts by unknown authors do not paint a romanticised or idealised picture, instead describing life in all its fullness: gracefulness and reverence are juxtaposed with greed and perversity, the allure of nature with the noise of the tavern.

A kingdom for a pear

Only a few among us will succeed in finding true, i.e. lasting and complete, happiness in this earthly vale of tears. Those who are at least lucky in love can consider themselves fortunate. This is the premise of a novel written by an unknown French author some time before 1300 entitled Roman de la poire – Romance of the Pear. The title is derived from a key episode in which the damsel shares a pear with her beloved after having peeled it with her teeth. Love’s bliss can express itself in many ways.

Illustration from Roman de la poire – Romance of the Pear, France, prior to 1300. — Illustration from *Roman de la poire – Romance of the Pear*, France, prior to 1300. Some plunge forlornly into the misery of loneliness (right and bottom); the woman has even lost her cloak. Others blissfully pair off (left and top). The sumptuous mantles draped around the two lovers are embellished with golden lilies against a blue background, the symbol of French kings since the 12th century. Magnificence upon magnificence. Bibliothèque Nationale de France

Wonderful, how gracious and elegant, yet at the same time forceful and determined, the queen appears as she draws her paramour up towards her, already holding the crown for her chosen one in her left hand. Meanwhile, Fortuna turns the wheel with stoic equanimity, apparently indifferent to what is happening.

O Melancholia

However you look at it, the world and we people in it are the way we are, we just don‘t always maintain a consistent self-image. If we dwell purely on our flaws and errors, it makes us unhappy, melancholy, and lures us into moralising. This was a tendency exhibited towards the end of his life by the eminent early-Renaissance poet and humanist, Giovanni Boccaccio (1313-1375). A moralising late work, reissued in Paris 100 years after his death, depicts famous men and women being cast down by the wheel of fortune, one and all. Unusually, the prospect of elevation is not part of the programme. The figures on either side of the wheel of fortune are moving in only one direction. Down with all of them!

Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–1375), De casibus virorum illustrium – On the Fates of Famous Men [and women], 1467 Paris edition. — A wheel of fortune that brings only bad luck? No matter on which side of the wheel they stand, the crowned heads and nobles fall. And the goddess of fate? Standing at the centre of the picture, she is not turning the wheel by its crank but pushing the king dressed in blue to the ground. Why does the waiting crowd nevertheless jostle for position? – Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–1375), *De casibus virorum illustrium – On the Fates of Famous Men* [and women], 1467 Paris edition. Wikimedia

Even though a king descends with hands clasped, another tumbles directly into the lap of his beloved, yes, even though the noblest of the noble pray fervently for those being cast down: their fall cannot be stopped, it is irreversible. The pictorial composition and quality of the painting are remarkable, but these contrasts! The content dark, fatal, nightmarish, the colours bright, mixed, vibrant – incongruous.

Who counts the wheels, names the names

A look at the panopticon of pictures featuring wheels of fortune reveals that this motif has struck a chord with human existence across the centuries. The following three examples give some idea of the variety of depictions.

Illustration from John Lydgate, The quene [queen] of Fortune, a moralising tale relating the history of Troy, written from 1412 to 1420. — **Illustration from John Lydgate, *The quene [queen] of Fortune*, a moralising tale relating the history of Troy, written from 1412 to 1420.** University of Manchester

Unusually, John Lydgate‘s goddess of fate, clad in ermine and a red cloak, requires four assistants to help her spin the wheel. Even Fortuna herself cannot succeed alone in casting the half dozen crowned heads to their doom while at the same time helping a similar number to rise again.

Woodcut from Sebastian Brant, The Ship of Fools, a moral satire, Basel 1494. — **Woodcut from Sebastian Brant, *The Ship of Fools*, a moral satire, Basel 1494.** Wikimedia

In true keeping with the spirit of the Ship of Fools, a donkey reaches for the moon with its front hooves. An ass with the upper body of a fool falls, while a man with the head of a donkey rises on the other side. The wheel of fortune typically moves in a clockwise direction, but here the opposite is the case. Moreover, for once the wheel is not being turned by Fortuna, but by the strong hand of God in heaven tugging on a rope.

Painting by Edward Burne-Jones, The Wheel of Fortune, 1883. Influenced by Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel. — **Painting by Edward Burne-Jones, *The Wheel of Fortune*, 1883. Influenced by Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel.** Wikipedia / Musée d’Orsay Paris

The monumental spoked wooden wheel in the painting by Burne-Jones is a breathtaking sight. The giant personification of Fortuna, effortlessly turning the wheel with her hand, is just as stunning. Her gaze downcast, as if sleepwalking, the striking goddess of fate does not take any notice of the falling men and their beauty. Once again, we are unsettled by her indifference, as if her actions have nothing to do with her. At the top of the wheel is a slave, recognisable by the broken chains on either foot. He is pushing down a king bearing a crown and sceptre, who in turn pushes down a poet wearing a laurel wreath. We can hardly believe our eyes: the slave placed above the king, a political utopia? But on the wheel of fortune both share the same fate. Has the poet, only visible from the head up, already fallen off the wheel?

A giant wheel as a wheel of fortune

Vienna, a warm day in May 1947. Two years after the end of the war, Austria and Vienna are still occupied by the Allies, divided into sectors in the same way as Germany and Berlin. This is the world of social and economic change into which Robert Seethaler transports us in his novel Das Café ohne Namen (The Café without a name). A few hundred cheering Viennese stand in the Prater amusement park and look on “as the giant wheel, reduced to a skeleton by bombs and now freshly renovated, finally begins to turn again”. Will the creaking giant, with its slender struts, bear the weight of the wooden cabins and their laughing and waving occupants?

**Vienna, Prater. The filigree structure of the big wheel began operating again two years after the end of the Second World War. For safety reasons, with only 15 cabins instead of the original 30.** Wikimedia / Otto Domes

The wheel symbolises constant change. With each turn, down becomes up and up becomes down. The people of Vienna were aware of this in 1947 and the years that followed. But for the time being, only one direction counted: upwards! For many, the giant wheel in the Prater became a symbol of the city’s reconstruction.

Happiness framed globally

In 1968, the view broadened to encapsulate one world. An international revolution of consciousness got underway. This is made clear in the lyrics to Leg dein Ohr auf die Schiene der Geschichte (‘Put Your Ear to the Tracks of History’) by rapper Max Herre (*1973), in which he looks back as a 23-year-old on the year of his birth, 1973, “important for me and historically,” a year in which it “became clear that the CIA was corrupt,” in which many people, including Allende, were assassinated in Chile, a year of “dead and dictators”. While grateful for his own mother’s loving care, he imagines another child born in the same year but elsewhere, in Cambodia, whose mother “saw the gunshot too late”.

The song "Leg dein Ohr auf die Schiene der Geschichte" of the music group "Freundeskreis". YouTube

1973, Germany, Cambodia, same time but not the same place, not the same fortune, not the same fate. He would be 23 like me now. You can feel the empathy. He would be like me … would be. The lyrics refer to two children and their mothers. But they stand for all children, all mothers, all people. Happiness is not restricted to purely personal experience, it has a broader scope. The best kind of happiness is shared with others.

O Fortuna

Unlike luck, solidarity is not tied to time and place. Even retrospective solidarity remains effective as part of our historical consciousness, at both the individual and universal level. We are not omnipotent, but neither are we powerless. What we can do is what is humanly possible. Perhaps we can give fortune a bit of a helping hand here and there – by joining forces.

More of: Middle Ages Religion Culture Architecture Art

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