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Fortuna desperata: a study of symbolism

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Fortuna desperata: a study of symbolism

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FORTUNA
DESPERATA

A
STUDY
OF
SYMBOLISM

by

Mary
Lauren
Buckley

A
Dissertation
Presented
to
the

FACULTY
OF
THE
USC
THORNTON
SCHOOL
OF
MUSIC

In
Partial
Fulfillment
of
the

Requirements
for
the
Degree

DOCTOR
OF
MUSICAL
ARTS

(CHORAL
MUSIC)

December
2012

Copyright
2012

Mary
Lauren
Buckley

ii

Table
of
Contents

Dedication

iv

Acknowledgements

v

List
of
Tables

vi

List
of
Figures

vii

List
of
Musical
Examples

viii

Abstract

ix

Introduction

x

Chapter
1:
The
History
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna

1

Tyche

2

Fortuna
in
Rome

6

Fortuna
in
the
Early
Middle
Ages
and
Boethius’
Wheel
of
Fortune
10

Christian
Fortuna:
Dante’s
Ministering
Angel

18

Fortuna
in
the
Renaissance

29

Chapter
2:
Fortuna
desperata

38

Musical
Atmosphere
during
the
mid
to
late
1400s

41

The
Text

46

The
Song

54

Combinative
Settings
and
Re-‐workings

66

The
Mass
Settings

77

Chapter
3:
Musical
Devices
and
their
Symbolic
Connection
to
Fortuna
85

Number
Symbolism

87

The
Hexachord
and
Mutation

89

High
to
Low,
Low
to
High

93

Ostinato
and
Repetition

97

iii

Rhythmic
play:
patterns,
augmentation
and
diminution

100

Palindromes,
canons,
inversion
and
retrograde-‐inversion

101

Chapter
4:
The
Relationship
between
Text
and
Music
in

Fortuna
desperata
Settings

104

Intertextuality,
Citation,
and
Allusion

105

Combinative
Settings
with
Sacred
Texts

108

Fortuna
and
the
Virgin
Mary

120

Combinative
Settings
with
Secular
Texts

130

A
Woman
in
Distress:
Comme
femme
desconfortée

135

Bibliography

140

iv

Dedicated
to
my
grandmothers

v

Acknowledgements

I
would
like
to
thank
my
advisors
Drs.
Nick
Strimple,
Adam
Gilbert

and
Jo-‐Michael
Scheibe
for
their
guidance
throughout
my
graduate
education

at
USC
Thornton.
I
would
like
to
extend
a
special
thanks
to
Dr.
Gilbert
for

teaching
a
class
on
symbolism;
he
showed
me
the
rabbit
hole
and
I’ve
been

submerged
ever
since.

I
would
also
like
to
thank
my
wonderful
family
for
being
the
most

encouraging
support
group
anyone
could
wish
for.
And
finally
I’d
like
to

thank
my
fiancé,
Rob
Schaer,
for
his
endless
patience
and
encouragement.

vi

List
of
Tables

2.1

A
Comparison
of
Fortuna
desperata
Texts

49

2.2

List
of
Fortuna
desperata
settings

67

2.3
A
Chronological
Timeline
of
Fortuna
desperata
settings

72

4.1
Combinative
Sacred
Texts

112

4.2
Combinative
Secular
Texts

130

4.3
Comme
femme
desconfortée
text
and
translation

136

vii

List
of
Figures

1.1

Tyche
of
Antioch,
Euychides

4

1.2

Wheel
of
Fortune
in
Hortus
Deliciarum

17

1.3
Fortuna
engraving,
Nicoletto
da
Modena

31

1.4
Emblem
99
from
Alciato’s
Book
of
Emblems

34

2.1

The
Medici
Coat
of
Arms

61

viii

List
of
Musical
Examples

2.1
Fortuna
desperata

59

3.1
FD9
Fortuna
disperata,
Johannes
Martini

94

3.2

FD12
Fortuna
disperata,
anonymous

95

3.3
FD27
Passibus
ambiguis,
Matthias
Greiter

96

3.4
FD25
Nasci,
pati,
mori,
Ludwig
Senfl

97

3.5
FD10
Fortuna
disperata/Sancte
Petre/Ora
pro
nobis,

Heinrich
Isaac

99

3.6
FD16
Sanctus,
Isaac

102

4.1
Opening
phrase
of
Virgo
prudentissima
chant

126

4.2
FD23
Virgo
prudentissima/Fortuna,
Senfl

127

ix

Abstract

This
dissertation
focuses
on
the
symbolism
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna
in
the

Italian
song,
Fortuna
desperata
and
its
re-‐workings.

Chapter
1
presents
a

history
of
the
Goddess,
establishing
a
culture
of
iconography
and
symbolism

leading
up
to
the
Renaissance.
The
first
part
of
Chapter
2
discusses
the
song,

Fortuna
desperata,
in
detail,
presenting
observations
on
historical
relevance,

textual
discrepancies,
and
song
analysis.
The
second
part
of
Chapter
2

addresses
the
Fortuna
desperata
re-‐workings
and
mass
settings.
Chapter
3
is

organized
as
a
guideline
for
identifying
musical
devices
associated
with

symbolic
aspects
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna.
Chapter
4
discusses
the
symbolic

implications
associated
with
combinative
and
contrafacta
texts.
The
study

reveals
a
consistent
pattern
of
musical
devices
and
symbolic
allusions

associated
with
Fortuna.

x

Introduction

Mention
the
Goddess
Fortuna
and
a
musician
immediately
hears
Carl

Orff’s
threatening
opening
movement
of
Carmina
Burana.
A
literary
reader

might
envision
Ignatius
cursing
the
goddess
on
the
streets
of
New
Orleans
in

the
hilarious
novel,
A
Confederacy
of
Dunces.
1

An
historian
might
think
of

Classical
Greek
poets
bemoaning
Fortuna’s
influence
in
verse.
While
the

culture
surrounding
Fortuna
has
evolved
over
the
course
of
her
tenure,
she

enjoyed
an
astonishing
musical
flourishing
in
the
late
fifteenth
century.

The
three-‐voice
song
Fortuna
desperata
appeared
in
the
later
part
of

the
fifteenth
century
and
inspired
numerous
re-‐workings.
Fortuna
scholars

Julie
Cumming
and
Honey
Meconi
compiled
information
about
various

aspects
of
the
settings
but
this
paper
seeks
to
present
a
comprehensive
study

specifically
addressing
the
common
trends
of
Fortuna
symbolism
that

permeate
these
settings.
“While
music
history
has
approached
the
Fortuna

songs
solely
from
a
musical
and
technical
point
of
view,
the
history
of
art
has

1

John
Kennedy
Toole,
A
Confederacy
of
Dunces,
Louisiana
State
University
Press
(Baton

Rouge:
1980).

xi

taken
decisive
steps
towards
an
understanding
of
the
deeper
symbolic

meaning
of
Fortuna’s
representations.”
2

Symbolism
is
a
never-‐ending
path
of
hidden
meaning
and

interconnected
webs,
and
symbology
holds
a
key
place
in
the
understanding

of
cultures
and
beliefs.
Medieval
and
Renaissance
cultures
embraced

symbolism
in
the
arts
as
a
means
of
demonstrating
prowess
and,
of
course,

faith.
Music
was
saturated
with
hidden
meaning
due
to
the
marriage
of

poetry
and
sound;
composers
could
layer
musical
motives
associated
with

specific
texts.
Composers
frequently
incorporated
hidden
quotes
and
puzzles

in
an
effort
to
create
intellectual
and
spiritual
labyrinths.

‘Allegory’
(from
Gk.
and
Lat.
Allegoria)
literally
means

‘speaking
otherwise
than
one
seems
to
speak.’

‘Sign’

(from
Lat.
signum)
has
the
larger
sense
of
a
‘thing
which

brings
something
to
our
cognition
beyond
the

impression
the
thing
itself
makes
upon
the
senses.’

‘Symbol’
(from
Gk.
sumbolon)
originally
meant
a

fragment
of
an
object
divided
by
contracting
parties,

each
party
keeping
a
piece
of
the
object.
Subsequently

the
term
acquired
the
sense
of
both
an
identity
token

and
of
a
pre-‐arranged
sign
which
leads
to
the

knowledge
of
something
else.
In
this
way
any

conventional
sign
could
be
called
a
symbol,
but
the
use

of
the
term
symbol
is
generally
restricted
to
those
signs

which
point
to
a
higher
reality.
3

2

Edward
Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music
with
a
special
study
of
Josquin’s
Fortuna

dun
gran
tempo,”
The
Musical
Quarterly,
29,
no.
1
(January
1943):
65.

3

Willem
Elders,
Symbolic
Scores:
Studies
in
the
Music
of
the
Renaissance.
(Leidin:
E.J.
Brill,

1994):
3.

xii

The
study
of
symbolism
in
music
presents
opportunities
for
scholars

to
combine
knowledge
of
music,
culture,
religion
and
text.
Willem
Elders
in

particular
provides
an
enlightening
list
of
guides
for
“musico-‐symbolical

analysis”
in
the
introduction
of
his
book,
Symbolic
Scores:
Studies
in
the
Music

of
the
Renaissance.
4

In
addition
to
warning
musicologists
to
be
wary
of
mis-‐
using
number
symbolism
and
seeing
symbolism
where
none
exists,
he
makes

an
important
observation
regarding
the
nature
of
musical
symbolism.

“Musical
symbolism
seldom
discloses
itself
to
the
ear;
it
is
rather
to
be

detected
by
a
close
reading
of
the
score.”
5

By
close
study
of
the
Fortuna

desperata
settings,
this
dissertation
attempts
to
identify
and
analyze
the

trends
in
musical
and
textual
symbolism
of
Fortuna.
“The
great
majority
of

Franco-‐Flemish
combinative
compositions,
however,
expose
startling

relationships
between
the
most
disparate
elements
(caprice,
irrationality)
by

combining
them
in
an
ingeniously
contrived
union
(rationality,
control).”
6

The
relationship
between
Fortuna,
the
concept
of
the
universe
and
the

artistic
output
inspired
by
this
relationship
inspired
this
study.
By

cataloguing
Fortuna’s
musical
symbolic
trends
within
the
Fortuna
desperata

oeuvre,
we
gain
a
greater
insight
to
the
Renaissance
understanding
of
both

4

Ibid.,
15.

5

Ibid.

6

Maria
Maniates,
“Quodlibet
Revisum,”
Acta
musicologica
38
(1996):
175.

xiii

Fortuna
and
the
universe.
“Thus
when
church
music
and
secular
song
served

as
different
voices
in
a
polyphonic
musical
texture
that
combined
them
with

one
another
to
create
acoustical
concord,
their
musical
consonance
was

understood
to
embody
part
of
the
soul
of
the
universe.”
7

This
study
will

identify
and
catalogue
both
the
musical
and
textual
symbols
associated
with

the
Goddess
Fortuna
as
represented
by
the
Fortuna
desperata
tradition.

Chapter
1
focuses
on
the
historical
background
of
Fortuna,
establishing
a

history
of
the
Goddess
and
her
presence
in
literary
and
artistic
arenas.

Chapter
2
presents
a
historic
and
cultural
analysis
of
the
original
Italian
song

and
its
re-‐workings.
Chapter
3
discusses
the
musical
symbols
of
Fortuna

using
specific
musical
examples
taken
from
the
Fortuna
desperata
re-‐
workings.
Chapter
4
examines
the
textual
symbols
embedded
within
the

Fortuna
desperata
settings
including
the
potent
connection
between
Fortuna

and
the
Virgin
Mary.
This
in-‐depth
examination
reveals
a
complex
web
of

symbolism
connecting
Fortuna
to
nearly
every
aspect
of
Renaissance
culture.

7

David
Rothenberg,
The
Flower
of
Paradise:
Marian
Devotion
and
Secular
Song
in
Medieval

and
Renaissance
Music
(New
York:
Oxford
University
Press,
2011),
11.

1

Chapter
1

The
History
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna

[Fortuna]
is
concerned
not
merely
with
one
phase
of
human

existence,
as
are
most
gods
and
goddesses,
-‐
Ceres,
for

example,
with
the
harvest,
and
Neptune
with
the
sea
and
its

dangers,
-‐
but
she
gradually
usurps
all
places
until
she

approximates
the
dignity
of
a
female
Jove.
She
becomes
the

ruling
power
of
the
universe
although
her
government
is

without
plan.
If
at
any
time
we
find
her
suddenly
steadied
in

subordination
to
some
other
deity,
the
change
is
significant
for

the
philosophy
of
life
in
that
period.
In
other
words,
the

attitude
of
a
period
toward
Fortuna
reveals
its
attitude
toward

the
question
of
fatalism.
1

The
history
and
origins
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna
extend
from
Classical

Greece
through
the
Renaissance.
Although
not
di
indigentes,
part
of
the

original
pantheon
of
gods,
she
was
nevertheless
a
powerful
deity
whose

adaptable
persona
easily
accommodated
cultural
needs.
Celebrated
in

literature,
visual
and
performance
art,
she
carried
with
her
countless

symbolic
and
allegorical
references
all
of
which
stem
from
a
variety
of

transformations
made
during
her
evolution
throughout
antiquity.
The
rich

1

Howard
Rollin
Patch,
The
Tradition
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature
and
in
the

Transitional
Period
(Northampton:
Departments
of
Modern
Languages
of
Smith
College,

1922),
132.

2

iconography
of
Fortuna
throughout
this
period
illustrates
the
consistent

nature
of
her
imagery
despite
her
ever-‐changing
and
adapting
identities.

Tyche

Tyche
was
Fortuna’s
ancient
Greek
counterpart,
a
goddess
of
Fate
or

Chance.
Her
name
comes
from
the
Greek
verb
meaning,
“to
happen.”
Tyche

first
appears
in
Hesiod
as
a
sea
nymph
2
;
her
stature
evolved
from
nymph
to

goddess
in
the
early
fourth
century
BCE
and
developed
associations
with

luck
(both
good
and
bad),
success
and
chance.
She
was
also
associated
with
a

variety
of
visual
symbols,
each
representing
aspects
of
her
persona.
These

symbols
represent
a
connection
between
Tyche
and
Fortuna;
they
function

as
symbolic
“breadcrumbs,”
helping
scholars
trace
the
evolution
of
the

goddess
through
her
myriad
incarnations.

Because
of
her
origins
as
a
sea
nymph,
Tyche
had
a
strong
connection

with
water.
3

She
was
especially
instrumental
in
the
fates
of
sailors,
helping

them
to
make
safe
passage.
“This
water
attribute
became
visually
canonized

2

Hesiod
(ca.
700
BCE)
was
a
Greek
scholar
and
poet
who,
along
with
Homer,
was
credited

for
illuminating
early
Greek
mythology.

3

Arya,
Darius
Andre,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Imperial
Rome:
Cult,
Art,
Text,”
(Ph.D.
diss.,

University
of
Texas
at
Austin,
2002),
30.

3

through
her
rudder,
as
well
as
her
cornucopia.”
4

The
connection
between
the

rudder
and
Tyche
is
linked
to
her
maritime
origins,
but
the
symbol
came
to

represent
much
more.
“Pindar
.
.
.
and
Aeschylus
.
.
.
are
the
earliest
Greek

authors
that
describe
Tyche
as
steering
the
lives
of
men.”
5

The
cornucopia

was
a
symbol
of
abundance,
wealth,
fertility
and
food.
The
symbol
becomes

linked
with
Tyche
during
the
sixth
century
BCE
and
coincidentally,
is
also

associated
with
the
Muses.

One
of
the
most
famous
statues
of
Tyche,
“Tyche
of
Antioch,”
dates

back
to
300
BCE
and
is
attributed
to
Eutychides
(see
figure
1).
The
statue

shows
her
sitting
on
a
rock
with
a
man
pinned
under
her
foot.
The
rock
is

surrounded
by
water
and
the
man
is
floundering,
subject
to
her
will.
She

wears
a
mural
crown
and
holds
a
palm
or
stalk
of
grain.
6

The
mural
crown

represents
the
city
walls,
and
its
presence
indicates
Tyche’s
personal

protection
over
a
specific
settlement;
however,
the
mural
crown
is
not

specific
to
one
location.
This
ambiguity
is
possibly
what
made
Tyche
such
an

attractive
deity;
she
could
easily
transfer
her
protection
and
guidance
from

one
location
to
another.
Although
not
a
cornucopia,
the
stalk
of
grain
is
an

allusion
to
abundance
and
fertility.
“The
archaeological
and
literary
evidence

confirm
that
the
cornucopia
and
mural
crown
became
associated
with
Tyche

4

Ibid.,
28.

5

Ibid.,
77.

6

Ibid.,
23-‐24.

4

statuary
by
the
fourth
century
BCE
and
that
the
rudder
was
a
Hellenistic

attribute,
all
of
which
were
eventually
adopted
as
the
iconography
of

Fortuna.”
7

Figure
1.1
Euytchides,
"Tyche
of
Antioch,"
ca.
400
BCE,

www.theoi.com/Gallery/S18.2.html

7

Ibid.,
69.

5

The
wheel
was
another
important
symbol
associated
with
Tyche.
This

is
especially
relevant
because
the
wheel
becomes
the
most
powerful
symbol

associated
with
Fortuna
in
Boethius’
Consolation
of
Philosophy.
For
the

Greeks,
the
wheel
represented
the
cycle
of
life,
8

including
both
good
fortune

and
bad.
“The
wheel,
in
a
negative
sense
.
.
.
indicates
the
capriciousness
of

Tyche.”
9

Before
Boethius
crystallized
the
image
of
Fortune’s
wheel,
it

appeared
as
both
a
wheel
and
as
a
sphere
in
various
artistic
representations

of
Tyche
and
Fortuna.
“Tyche
perched
on
top
of
the
sphere
represented
her

power
over
the
world
and
the
fate
of
the
world
and
the
fate
of
individuals.”
10

Again,
the
symbol
itself
undergoes
an
evolution
from
literal
to
symbolic

representation.
The
sphere
not
only
represents
the
world
but
the
life
cycle
of

the
individual.
Yet
another
interpretive
layer
is
the
relationship
between
the

sphere
and
Tyche’s
constantly
changing
perspectives.
“The
sphere
[was]

associated
with
the
goddess’
unbalanced
(or
fickle)
mood
and
sway
over
the

world.”
11

Perhaps
one
of
the
most
interesting
aspects
of
Tyche
was
her

ambiguity.
“She
became
an
omnipotent
deity,
representing
the
fortune
of
all,

the
fortune
of
a
city,
and
the
fortune
of
an
individual
[replacing
the
older

8

Arya,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna,”
84.

9

Ibid.,
87.

10

Ibid.,
81.

11

Ibid.

6

Greek
view
of
‘Moira’
(fate)
as
the
principal
way
of
conceiving
a
personal

destiny].”
12

This
same
aspect,
later
characterized
as
mutability,
becomes
one

of
the
most
important
characteristics
of
Fortuna
as
she
weathers
the
shift

from
Paganism
to
Christianity.

Fortuna
in
Rome

Fortuna’s
Italian
origins
are
complicated.
Ferre,
“to
bring”
and
fors,

“chance,”
both
of
which
may
have
come
to
mean
luck,
especially
good
luck,

are
considered
roots
of
the
word
fortuna.
13

As
noted
by
Fortuna
scholars

Howard
Patch
and
Jerold
Frakes,
Fortuna’s
mythological
origins
are
difficult

to
pin
down;
she
is
more
of
an
amalgamation
of
a
variety
of
personalities,

funneled
through
the
absorption
of
foreign
traditions
into
the
Roman
culture.

“The
modern
term
‘Tyche-‐Fortuna’
designates
the
goddess
Fortuna
after
her

persona
and
cult
have
been
affected
by
the
introduction
of
the
cult
of
Tyche

to
Italy.”
14

“The
majority
of
the
Italian
evidence
of
Fortuna
and
her
cult
belongs

to
the
last
two
centuries
BCE,
when
Tyche
was
formulated
into
a

12

Ibid.,
37-‐38.

13

Ibid.,
40.

14

Ibid.,
53.

7

standardized
image.”
15

Writers
and
philosophers
were
instrumental
in

providing
literary
descriptions
of
both
goddesses.
16

Dio
Chrysostom
writes
of

Fortuna’s
sphere,
rudder
and
cornucopia;
Plutarch
describes
her
wings,

sandals
and
globe.
17

This
combination
of
the
rudder
and
the
globe
showed

that
“Fortuna
controls
and
guides
the
fate
of
the
civilized
world
of
the
Roman

empire
.
.
.
on
land
and
sea.”
18

Plutarch
was
especially
influential
in
his

portrayal
of
Fortuna.
According
to
Plutarch,
the
rudder
represented

Fortuna’s
fickle
nature;
she
has
the
power
to
move
in
any
direction.
However,

in
his
essay,
“On
the
Fortune
of
the
Romans,”
Plutarch
describes
Fortuna’s

pilgrimage
from
the
east
(Greece)
to
the
west
(Rome)
and
as
Fortuna
finds

favor
with
the
Romans,
she
discards
her
fickle
ways
and
instead
bestows
a

mantle
of
protection
over
the
Romans.
19

Despite
Plutarch’s
optimistic

portrayal
of
Fortuna,
other
literary
figures
noted
the
danger
of
her
fickle

nature.
Cicero,
Horace,
Seneca
and
Ovid
all
condemn
Fortuna’s
fickle
ways.

15

Ibid.,
69.

16

In
fact,
Fortuna
scholar,
Jerald
Frakes,
argues
that
it
is
the
literary
history
of
Fortuna
that

is
most
informative
for
modern
studies;
he
finds
less
credence
in
an
overview
of
her
cults.

This
is
in
contrast
to
Howard
Patch’s
extensive
research
on
Fortuna
cults.
For
more

information
see
Jerald
Frakes,
The
Fate
of
Fortune
in
the
early
Middle
Ages
(Leiden,
E.J.
Brill:

1988),
and
Howard
Rollin
Patch,
The
Tradition
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature

and
in
the
Transitional
Period
(Northampton:
Departments
of
Modern
Languages
of
Smith

College,
1922).

17

Arya,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna,”
68.
The
wings
and
sandals
are
also
symbols
associated
with

Mercury,
the
messenger
god.

18

Ibid.,
84.

19

Ibid.,
113.

8

Passibus
ambiguis
Fortuna
volubis
errat

Et
manet
in
nullo
certo
tenaxque
loco:

Sed
modo
laeta
venit,
vultus
modo
sumit
acerbos,

Et
tantum
constans
in
levitate
sua
est.

Fleeting
Fortuna
wanders
with
doubting
steps,
and
remains
in
no
one

place
for
certain,
and
to
be
relied
upon.
At
one
moment,
she
abides
in

a
place
full
of
joy;
at
another,
she
assumes
an
austere
countenance,

and
only
in
her
very
fickleness
is
she
constant.
20

As
the
Roman
Empire
expands,
Fortuna
evolves
from
a
universal

goddess
to
one
that
is
adopted
not
only
by
specific
cities
but
even
individuals

and
occasions.
21

Pliny
the
Elder
wrote
a
discourse
describing
Fortuna
as
“the

only
god
whom
everyone
invokes”
[Fortuna
sola
invocatur
ac
nominatur].
22

He
also
notes
another
distinctive
feature
of
Fortune:
her
blindness.
23

This

attribute
becomes
particularly
symbolic
when
Fortuna’s
reign
is
described
as

being
all-‐inclusive.
While
Arya
finds
Fortuna
“difficult
to
interpret
because

she
possesses
so
many
different
conflicting
characteristics
simultaneously,”
24

history
reveals
that
Fortuna’s
universal
appeal
is
precisely
why
she
survived

transportation
across
multiple
borders
and
faiths.
A
variety
of
Fortuna
cults

20

Ovid,
from
Tristia,
V,
Eleg,
VIII,
15-‐18,
translation
by
H.T.
Riley.
Both
the
original
Latin
and

the
translation
can
be
found
in
Patch,
The
Tradition
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Roman

Literature
and
in
the
Transitional
Period,
144.
The
passage
is
repopularized
in
the

Renaissance
and
set
to
music
by
Matthias
Greiter
in
a
unique
(and
progressive)
combinative

setting
using
the
tenor
line
from
the
three-‐voice
song,
Fortuna
desperata.
This
will
be

discussed
in
more
detail
in
a
later
chapter.

21

Ibid.,
55.

22

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature,
135.
This
is
an
excerpt
from
Pliny
the
Elder,
translated

by
J.
Bostock
and
H.T.
Riley.
See
footnote
11
in
Patch
for
more
information.

23

Ibid.,
151.

24

Ibid.,
43.

9

spring
up
including
but
certainly
not
limited
to
Fortuna
Virilis,
Fortuna

Barbata,
Fortuna
of
Pompey,
and
Fortuna-Panthea.
25

“In
time,
the
cults

proliferated
to
the
extent
that
there
was
a
Fortuna
for
one
and
for
all.”
26

The

reason
for
Fortuna’s
simultaneous
ambiguity
and
specificity
within
Roman

culture
likely
had
to
do
with
the
size
of
the
empire
and
the
combinations
of

cultures.

She
was,
then,
a
deity
that
absorbed
all
the
others.
Later
in

studying
the
cults
we
shall
see
that
she
was
the
goddess
of
the

state
as
well
as
of
the
individual;
the
goddess
of
the
lower

classes
as
well
as
the
higher,
the
goddess
of
women
and
of
the

young
men
too.
27

The
cult
of
Fortuna-Panthea
(Goddess
of
Fortune
with
attributes
of

other
divinities)
was
particularly
noteworthy
because
of
the
specific

references
to
symbols
associated
with
other
gods.
Patch
mentions
an
artistic

rendering
on
an
ancient
lamp
of
Fortuna
with
her
traditional
iconography
–

cornucopia,
sphere
–
but
also
with
symbols
of
other
gods:
“the
eagle
of
Jove,

the
dolphin
of
Neptune;
the
club
of
Hercules,
the
sistrum
of
Isis,
the
lyre
of

Apollo,
the
tongs
of
Vulcan,
the
caduceus
of
Mercury,
and
many
more

symbols.”
28

Fortuna’s
unique
ability
to
absorb
characteristics
of
other
divine

25

Ibid.,
134-‐136.

26

Jerald
C.
Frakes,
The
Fate
of
Fortune,
12.

27

Arya,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna,”
135.

28

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature,
136.

10

personalities
is
a
realization
of
her
own
mutability,
an
asset
that
finds

interesting
symbolic
resonance
in
musical
representations.
Fortuna’s

connection
to
various
other
gods
becomes
especially
relevant
in
the

Renaissance
during
the
Neo-‐Classicist
interest
in
humanism
and
other

ancient
disciplines.
29

Fortuna
in
the
early
Middle
Ages
and
Boethius’
Wheel
of
Fortune

“
‘High
to
low’
is
the
great
theme
in
the
Middle
Ages
as
well
as
in
Classical

times
.
.
.
to
cause
this
suffering
is
the
particular
work
of
Fortuna.”
30

The
evolution
of
Fortuna’s
popularity
and
influence
during
the
early

Middle
Ages
is
not
only
a
reflection
of
cultural
evolution
but
also
religious,

artistic
and
political
change.
“A
man’s
attitude
toward
the
bestowing
force

depends
on
the
kind
of
life
he
is
living.”
31

Scholars
Frakes
and
Patch

emphasize
that
Fortuna’s
power
lies
over
the
external
world.
“It
does
not

appear
that
anyone
went
to
Fortune
for
spiritual
advancement.
She
was
not

the
goddess
of
the
soul,
but
of
worldly
interests
alone.”
32

Fortuna
emerges
as

29

Frakes
also
argues
that
is
it
Fortuna
Panthea
who
appears
in
Boethius’
Consolation
of

Philosophy.

30

Howard
R.
Patch,
The
Tradition
of
the
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Mediaeval
Literature
(New
York:

Octagon
Books,
1974),
68.

31

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature,
140.

32

Ibid.,
149.

11

a
god
of
convenience
in
medieval
Roman
culture:
she
could
be
blamed
for

bad
Fortune
or
extolled
for
good
Fortune.
In
this
sense,
not
only
was
Fortuna

fickle,
her
subjects
were
as
well.

Fortuna’s
chaotic
unpredictability
inspired
a
variety
of
coping

methods.
Seneca’s
view
places
virtue
as
the
most
powerful
antidote
for

Fortuna’s
influence.
“If
one
accepts
the
premise
that
Fortuna
is
the
controller

of
the
physical
world
and
the
bestower
of
external
goods,
then
one
has
the

choice
of
either
being
her
thrall
and
thus
subject
to
her
whim,
or
on
the

contrary
seeking
the
moral
life,
the
realm
of
inner
virtue.”
33

Roman
poet,

Juvenal,
attempts
to
annihilate
Fortuna
by
denying
her
power,
claiming
it

was
only
a
result
of
man’s
fear.
Medieval
scholar,
Patch,
distills
the
remedy
of

Fortune
into
three
possible
approaches:
1)
the
remedy
of
fortitude;
2)
the

remedy
of
prudence;
and
3)
the
spiritual
remedy.
34

The
first
approach

encourages
one
to
stand
his
ground
against
Fortune,
pitting
patience
against

disorder,
a
position
most
likely
inspired
by
the
Stoics.
The
remedy
of

prudence
advocates
enlightenment
as
a
means
of
obliterating
her
power;
this

is
precisely
the
stance
adopted
by
Juvenal.
The
third
remedy
preys
upon
the

medieval
distinction
between
worldly
and
godly
matters.
By
binding
Fortuna

to
“worldly
honors,”
one
can
“escape
from
her
control
.
.
.
by
cultivating
an

33

Frakes,
The
Fate
of
Fortune,
16.

34

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature,
148-‐150.
Patch
provides
literary
examples
for
each

remedy.

12

interest
in
virtue.”
35

These
three
remedies
become
splintered
when

Christianity
subsumes
Fortuna’s
pagan
position
after
a
failed
attempt
to

extinguish
her
completely.

Fortuna
was
not
only
a
goddess
of
the
individual
and
the
bringer
of

destiny,
she
was
also
the
great
equalizer:
she
rendered
all
men
equal
in
the

face
of
chance.
Here,
her
blindness
becomes
symbolic
and
her
inability
to
see

translates
into
an
ability
to
wield
her
influence
objectively.
This
could
be

both
fortuitous
and
cataclysmic,
depending
on
the
receiver.
“She
appealed
to

man
in
moments
of
his
greatest
weakness
and
greatest
strength.”
36

She

provided
hope
for
the
man
stuck
at
the
bottom
of
her
wheel
and
she

demanded
humility
from
the
man
seated
atop
her
wheel.

By
the
sixth
century
AD,
the
concentration
of
Fortuna
cults
and
her

frequent
appearances
in
philosophical
writings
had
molded
the
goddess
into

a
highly
explosive
personality,
characterized
by
fickleness
and

capriciousness.
Although
Frakes
argues
that
Fortuna’s
popularity
resulted

from
her
convenience
as
a
literary
device,
Patch
disagrees,
finding
her
to
be

“alive
among
the
people.”
37

Frakes
distinguishes
between
the
philosophical

concept
of
fortuna,
which
he
describes
as
“the
capricious
and
transitory

35

Ibid.,
150.

36

Ibid.,
158.

37

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Mediaeval
Literature,
8.

13

power
of
disorder”
and
Fortuna,
the
“personified
grantor
of
goods.”
38

Roman

politician
and
student
of
Classical
philosophy,
Boethius,
proved
to
be
a
point

of
convergence
for
Fortuna;
his
meditation
Consolatio
philosophiae,
written

during
the
imprisonment
prior
to
his
execution,
became
the
cornerstone

writing
on
the
Goddess,
illuminating
her
ancient
persona
with
a
profoundly

influenced
medieval
perspective
on
religion
and
fate.

Change
is
[Fortune’s]
normal
behaviour,
her
true

nature.
In
the
very
act
of
changing
she
has
preserved

her
own
particular
kind
of
constancy
towards
you.
.
.
.

You
have
discovered
the
changing
faces
of
the
random

goddess.
39

When
Boethius
is
visited
by
his
nurse,
Philosophy,
she
endeavors
to

unravel
his
clouded
perspective
on
faith,
fate
and
the
nature
of
chance.
After

deciphering
that
Boethius
is
“wasting
away
in
pining
and
longing
for
former

good
fortune,”
she
decides
that
the
first
remedy
is
rest
in
preparation
for
the

path
to
truth.
40

Coincidentally,
or
not,
she
calls
for
“Music,
the
maid-‐servant

of
my
house,
to
sing
us
melodies
of
varying
mood.”
41

Is
this
a
subliminal

suggestion
that
music
can
remedy
the
confusion
brought
forth
by
Fortune?

Music
possesses
a
certain
pristine
organization
of
sound
and
time,
an
order

38

Frakes,
The
Fate
of
Fortune,
3-‐4.

39

Boethius,
The
Consolation
of
Philosophy,
trans.
and
introduction
by
Victor
Watts
(London:

Penguin
Classics,
1969.
Reprint,
London:
Penguin
Classics,
1999),
23.

40

Ibid.,
22.

41

Ibid.,
22.

14

imposed
upon
the
abstract
and
intangible.
Because
music
also
echoes
the

changeable,
mutable
nature
of
Fortune,
it
becomes
an
art
form
that

simultaneously
mimics
the
Goddess’s
fickleness
and
provides
structure
for

her
blind
machinations.

Boethius
portrays
Fortune
as
a
slave
to
her
own
fate:
she
is
not
fickle

or
cruel
but
simply
following
her
set
task
of
spinning
the
wheel.
“Inconstancy

is
my
very
essence;
it
is
the
game
I
never
cease
to
play
as
I
turn
my
wheel
in

its
ever
changing
circle,
filled
with
joy
as
I
bring
the
top
to
the
bottom
and
the

bottom
to
the
top.”
42

In
fact,
Boethius’
Fortuna
has
no
control
over
how
her

wheel
scatters
men
to
their
fate.
He
does
not
portray
her
in
an
unfavorable

light
but
understands
rather
that
man’s
perception
of
Fortuna
is
skewed.

This
simultaneously
casts
her
in
a
more
favorable
light
and
strips
her
of
her

influential
power.
In
response
to
Fortune’s
honest
plea,
Boethius
counters

that
although
her
words
comfort
in
the
moment,
the
pain
of
living
with
her

cruel
ministrations
is
inconsolable
without
the
“sweet
honey
of
rhetoric
and

music.”
43

Philosophy
continues
to
expound
upon
Fortune’s
effect
on
mankind,

admitting
that
her
advice
seems
paradoxical.
“Good
fortune
deceives,
but
bad

fortune
enlightens.
.
.
.
And
so
you
can
see
Fortune
in
one
way
capricious,

42

Ibid.,
25.

43

Ibid.,
27.

15

wayward
and
ever
inconstant,
and
in
another
way
sober,
prepared
and
made

wise
by
the
experience
of
her
own
adversity.”
44

The
enlightenment
of
which

she
speaks
refers
to
being
stripped
of
false
hopes
and
promises;
placed
in

this
predicament,
man
discovers
his
true
wealth.

In
perhaps
the
most
fascinating
passage
of
The
Consolation
of

Philosophy,
Nurse
Philosophy
relates
the
story
of
Orpheus
as
a
means
of

expressing
the
dangers
in
opposing
fate.
Virgil
told
a
similar
tale,
but
in

Boethius’
version,
the
warning
is
clear:
live
in
the
moment
and
do
not
seek
to

question
one’s
former
fate.

For
you
the
legend
I
relate,

You
who
seek
the
upward
way

To
lift
your
mind
into
the
day;

For
who
gives
in
and
turns
his
eye

Back
to
darkness
from
the
sky,

Loses
while
he
looks
below

All
that
up
with
him
may
go.
45

In
addition
to
the
admonition
to
keep
one’s
vision
fixed
on
the
future

and
not
the
past,
Orpheus’
tale
also
includes
music
as
a
means
of
calming
and

changing
one’s
fate.
Perhaps
only
music
has
enough
power
to
stop
the

constant
movement
of
Fortune’s
wheel.
Alas,
Orpheus
falls
prey
to
the
human

tendency
to
question
his
luck
and
the
moment
he
turns
back
to
see
if
his
dead

wife
has
been
returned
to
him
is
the
moment
he
understands
that
he
has
lost

44

Ibid.,
44.

45

Ibid.,
84.

16

her
forever.
Fortune’s
indirect
cameo
in
Boethius’
version
of
Orpheus
is
a

reminder
that
while
she
can
be
soothed,
she
can
never
be
defeated.

Boethius
was
“the
main
intermediary
through
whom
this
ancient
idea

[of
Fortuna]
crossed
into
the
Christian
world.”
46

In
addition
to
Boethius’

rejuvenation
of
Fortuna’s
persona,
he
also
cemented
the
influence
of
her

most
enduring
symbol:
the
wheel.

Hunc
continuum
ludum
ludimus:

Rotam
volubili
orbe
versamus,
infima

Summis,
summna
infimis
mutare
gaudemus.

This
continuous
play
we
are
playing:

We
turn
the
wheel
in
hasty
circles
and
find

Pleasure
in
changing
low
to
high
and
high
to
low.
47

“In
its
earliest
use
the
wheel
seems
to
have
meant
instability
rather

than
variation.”
48

In
examining
aspects
of
the
medieval
perspective,
one

notes
the
tendency
to
create
stations
or
cycles
as
a
means
of
explaining
and

ordering
aspects
of
life:
the
four
humours,
the
four
hierarchies
of
the

universe,
the
seven
virtues
and
vices,
the
seven
liberal
arts
(the
trivium
and

quadrivium),
the
nine
ranks
of
angels.
The
list
continues,
as
number

symbolism
was
especially
pervasive
in
medieval
literature
and
belief.

46

Edward
Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music:
With
a
Special
Study
of
Josquin’s

‘Fortuna
dun
gran
tempo,’”
The
Musical
Quarterly
29,
no.
1
(Jan
1943):
66.

47

Boethius,
Consolatio
philosophiae,
quote
and
translation
from
Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess

Fortuna
in
Music,”
66.

48

Patch,
The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature,
148.

17

Fortuna’s
wheel
includes
four
stations,
meant
to
represent
four
possible
fates

of
man:
at
the
top
was
the
King,
“I
reign,”
[Regno];
moving
clockwise,
the
King

falls,
“I
have
reigned,”
[Regnavi];
at
the
bottom
is
the
lowest
state,
“I
have
no

kingdom”
[Sum
sine
regno];
and
finally,
the
seed
of
hope,
“I
shall
reign”

[Regnabo].
Although
literature
does
not
indicate
whether
Fortune’s
wheel

moves
in
only
one
direction,
the
wheel
is
always
portrayed
in
motion.

Figure
1.2
Wheel of Fortuna in Hortus Deliciarum (ca. 1100), Kitzinger, Ernst. The Art
of Byzantium and the Medieval West. (Bloomington: Indiana, 1976), 351.

18

With
the
development
of
Fortuna’s
wheel
as
a
symbol
of
her
influence

over
the
fate
of
the
world,
we
encounter
several
important
variations
on

Fortuna’s
positional
relationship
with
the
wheel.
49

Boethius’
Fortuna
turns

the
wheel
from
outside,
as
an
instrument
of
God,
a
participant
in
the
shifting

phases
of
life,
not
an
absolute
point
of
reference.
In
the
Carmina
Burana

manuscript,
Fortuna
is
positioned
within
the
wheel
at
the
center
of
the

spoke.
The
interpretation
of
this
particular
representation
is
dualistic:

Fortuna
could
be
either
the
absolute
neutral
or
entangled
within
her
own

cycle.
The
third
position
reveals
Fortuna
behind
the
wheel.
Her
positioning

becomes
an
important
point
of
comparison
for
visual
art
and
the
goddess’s

role
within
contemporary
culture
.

The
Christian
Fortuna:
Dante’s
Ministering
Angel

In
order
to
understand
Fortuna’s
progression
through
the
later

Middle
Ages,
a
mini-‐overview
of
literary
output
relating
to
the
goddess
is
in

order.
The
vast
array
of
writings
that
feature
or
spotlight
the
goddess
help

shed
light
on
the
more
general
sphere
of
her
influence.
This,
in
turn,
is

relevant
for
furthering
our
understanding
of
how
her
musical
appearances
–

49

Eva
Matthews
Sanford,
“Honorius
and
the
Wheel
of
Fortune,”
Classical
Philology
42,
no.
4

(Oct.
1947):
252.

19

especially
the
popularity
of
the
three-‐voice
song,
Fortuna
desperata
–

function
as
indications
of
artistic
and
social
commentaries.

As
Christianity
gained
power
and
influence
through
the
early
part
of

the
Middle
Ages,
the
Church’s
elders
were
confronted
with
the
problem
of

either
annihilating
or
adopting
existing
Pagan
beliefs.
According
to
Frakes,

“the
Christian
cosmology
had
no
place
for
a
roving
capricious
force.”
50

They

also
struggled
with
the
tendency
of
polytheism
to
pervade
common

superstition.
Barbara
Newman,
however,
notes
the
unusual
tolerance

adopted
towards
female
deities.
“It
is
a
fascinating
and
seldom
noted
truth

that
the
proliferation
of
goddesses
in
a
medieval
text
did
not
render
it

heretical,
nor
did
the
ascription
of
goddess-‐like
traits
to
the
Virgin.”
51

Newman
also
expounds
upon
the
medieval
tendency
to
embody
attributes
of

the
Christian
God
by
personifying
them.
52

This
is
precisely
how
Boethius

shaped
Lady
Philosophy
and
Lady
Fortuna,
as
personified
components
of
his

thoughts
and
his
spiritual
beliefs.

In
the
early
stages
of
Christianity,
evangelists
found
it
difficult
to

dislodge
long-‐held
pagan
traditions.
As
a
result,
many
pagan
beliefs

continued
in
tandem
with
Christianity
despite
the
Church’s
efforts
to

50

Frakes,
The
Fate
of
Fortune,
20.

51

Barbara
Newman,
God
and
the
Goddesses:
Vision,
Poetry,
and
Belief
in
the
Middle
Ages,

(Philadelphia:
University
of
Pennsylvania
Press,
2003),
39.
The
connection
between
Fortuna

and
the
Virgin
Mary
is
extensive
and
will
be
explored
in
Chapter
4.

52

Ibid.,
41.

20

eradicate
them.
Fortuna’s
endurance
was
an
insidious
problem
until
the

Church
moved
to
include
her
in
the
theology.
The
combined
festivities
of

Midsummer
Night’s
Eve
and
the
feast
of
St.
John
the
Baptist
is
an
example
of

the
savvy
blend
of
pagan
and
Christian
worship.
The
Feast
of
St.
John
the

Baptist
commemorates
the
birth
of
the
prophet
and
the
pagan
celebration
of

Midsummer
Night’s
Eve
honored
the
sun
at
its
apogee.
Both
festivities

celebrated
by
lighting
bonfires
–
a
common
European
practice
–
but
the

Midsummer
Night’s
Eve
festival
included
the
lighting
of
wheels
of
fire
and

rolling
them
down
the
hills
to
symbolize
the
cycle
of
the
day
and
of
a
man’s

life.
53

The
wheel
of
fire
is
also
connected
to
Fortuna
and
her
influence
on

man’s
fate.
“The
mutability
of
Fortune
resonated
with
the
solar
symbolism
of

the
solstitial
feast
day.
.
.
.
Just
as
the
solstice
represents
a
turning
point
in
the

sun’s
path,
so
the
goddess
presides
over
the
turning
wheel
of
Fortune.”
54

The
movement
from
high
to
low
is
a
thematic
element
that
permeates

many
aspects
of
medieval
philosophy
and
religion.
“At
his
most

characteristic,
medieval
man
was
not
a
dreamer
nor
a
wanderer.
He
was
an

organiser,
a
codifier,
a
builder
of
systems.”
55

Fortuna
and
her
wheel
are
a

microcosm
of
the
medieval
understanding
of
the
universe.
According
to

53

Michael
Alan
Anderson,
“Symbols
of
Saints:
Theology,
Ritual,
and
Kinship
in
Music
for
John

the
Baptist
and
St.
Anne
(1175-‐1563),”
(PhD.
diss.,
University
of
Chicago,
2008),
58.

54

Ibid.,
61.

55

C.S.
Lewis,
The
Discarded
Image:
an
Introduction
to
Medieval
and
Renaissance
Literature

(Cambridge:
Cambridge
University
Press,
1964),
10.

21

medieval
scholar,
C.S.
Lewis,
“in
every
period
the
Model
of
the
Universe

which
is
accepted
by
the
great
thinkers
helps
to
provide
what
we
may
call

backcloth
for
the
arts.”
56

This
medieval
model
relegates
Fortuna
to
the

earthly
realm;
becoming
free
from
her
spinning
wheel
allows
one’s
soul
to

begin
the
ascent
from
low
to
high,
through
the
cosmos,
directly
to
God,
who

resides
at
the
center
of
all
things.

Along
with
being
adopted
into
the
Christian
cosmology,
Fortuna
also

became
a
fixture
in
medieval
literature,
notably
poetry
and
allegory.

“Mediation
or
participation
in
the
Divine
was
certainly
the
main
function
of

medieval
goddesses,
but
by
no
means
the
only
one.
Among
their
secondary

roles
was
one
that
seem
indigenous
to
the
medium
of
allegory:
dramatizing

internal
conflict.”
57

The
earliest
popular
medieval
allegory,
The
Roman
de
la

Rose,
was
written
in
two
parts,
by
authors
Guillaume
de
Lorris
and
Jean
de

Meung,
who
were
separated
by
roughly
forty
years
(1230
to
1270).
Written

as
a
moral
tale
of
love,
Fortune
appears
as
a
character
outside
the
allegorical

tale.
Instead
of
being
an
active
participant,
she
functions
as
a
reference
point,

a
metaphorical
representation
of
her
relationship
with
her
wheel.

She
has
no

direct
interaction
with
the
characters
of
the
allegory
and
yet
they
are
subject

to
her
influence,
thus
the
allegorical
tale
is
also
a
representation
of
the

56

Ibid.,
14.

57

Newman,
God
and
Goddesses,
43.

22

relationship
between
Fortune
and
life’s
other
attributes.
Boethius’
influence

is
clear
in
both
Meung’s
description
of
Fortune’s
wheel
and
her
dwelling

place:
a
palace
perched
atop
a
mountain
on
an
island
amidst
a
raging
sea.

Fortuna’s
dwelling
place
provides
interesting
fodder
for
symbolic

interpretation.
In
order
to
reach
her,
one
must
travel
through
layers
of

opposition.
She
also
represents
a
fixed
point
amidst
chaos,
a
description
that

is
oddly
akin
to
those
of
the
Virgin
Mary,
who
is
also
seen
as
a
rock
or

fortress.
58

One
of
the
most
famous
–
and
slightly
notorious
–
collections
from
the

late
thirteenth
century
was
the
compilation,
Carmina
Burana,
which

contained
no
less
than
two
hundred
medieval
poems
and
opens
with
an
ode

to
Fortune.
Reflecting
the
perspective
of
the
time,
the
poets
lament
Fortune

as
being
fickle,
waxing
and
waning
with
the
moon
and
turning
her
wheel.

Interestingly,
she
is
linked
to
the
moon
and
the
sun,
both
of
which
feature

prominently
in
other
intellectual
models
of
the
time:
the
scientific
model
of

the
universe
and
the
Christian
model
of
the
universe.
Parts
of
the
manuscript

contain
melodic
themes,
insinuating
that
the
work
was
conceived
as
a

performance
piece.

58

A
study
of
Fortune
and
her
relationship
with
the
Virgin
Mary
will
be
presented
in
Chapter

4
of
this
dissertation.

23

Dante
wrote
his
masterpiece
The
Divine
Comedy
in
the
early

fourteenth
century.
Separated
into
three
parts
[Inferno,
Purgatory
and

Paradise],
Dante
provides
readers
with
distinctly
medieval
perspective
on

the
soul’s
journey
to
God.

Dante
prominently
features
Fortune
in
the
Inferno

and
his
portrayal
of
the
goddess
as
a
minister
or
agent
of
the
divine
(God)

secures
her
within
the
Christian
ideology.
Both
Frakes
and
Patch
find
Dante

to
be
the
medieval
writer
most
successful
at
transforming
Fortuna
into
a

Christian
figure.
“By
the
thirteenth
century,
she
had
been
‘rehabilitated’
to

the
extent
that
Dante
could
assign
her
a
position
as
one
of
God’s
ministers

who
helps
to
fulfill
his
plan
on
earth.”
59

Dante
did
not
attempt
to
reconstruct

Fortune
but
rather
to
sew
her
previous
persona
into
the
Christian
fabric.
“It

was
his
[Dante’s]
belief
that
the
Greeks
and
Romans,
in
their
ignorance
of
the

true
God,
had
nevertheless
recognized,
though
imperfectly,
many
of
his

spiritual
agents
who
control
the
motion
of
the
spheres,
and
had
worshiped

them
as
their
gods
and
goddesses.”
60

With
this
new
Christian
association,
Fortuna’s
iconography
became

even
more
closely
associated
with
the
image
of
the
wheel.
“While
Antiquity

allotted
Fortuna
such
friendly
symbols
as
the
cornucopia
and
the
rudder,

Christianity
represented
her
preferably
as
turning
the
wheel,
because
this

59

Frakes,
The
Fate
of
Fortune,
22.

60

Charles
G.
Osgood,
Jr.,
“Milton’s
‘Sphere
of
Fortune,’”
The
Johns
Hopkins
University
Press
22,

no.
5
(May
1907):
141.

24

symbol
lent
itself
best
to
an
interpretation
in
the
new
spirit,
which
stressed

the
transitory
character
of
all
worldly
matters.”
61

This
perspective
gained

popularity
among
Christian
circles
because
it
left
only
God
at
the
center
of

the
universe.
According
to
Dante,
Fortune
was
a
neutral
agent.
“Whatever

suffering
Fortune
causes
is
as
unintentional
and
irrelevant
as
the
joy
it

causes
those
who
receive
the
external
goods
that
are
taken
away
from

others.”
62

The
tendency
to
personify
components
of
spiritual
life
appears
again

in
the
medieval
allegory,
Roman
de
Fauvel.
Fortune
plays
a
major
role
in

Roman
de
Fauvel,
providing
the
Fauvel
with
the
good
fortune
of
marrying
her

daughter,
Vainglory,
so
that
they
might
give
birth
to
the
Antichrist.
Unlike
the

Roman
de
la
Rose,
Fortune
has
an
interactive
role,
dealing
directly
with

Fauvel’s
fate.
Set
to
music
by
Phillipe
de
Vitry
and
other
anonymous

composers,
the
allegory
functions
as
a
political
and
moral
sermon
against
the

vagaries
of
sin.
In
the
Roman
de
Fauvel,
it
is
not
just
one
wheel
that

accompanies
Fortuna
but
multiple
wheels
spinning
at
different
speeds
and
in

different
directions.
“Good
and
bad
Fortune
are
symbolized
.
.
.
by
two

61

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
66.

62

Vincenzo
Cioffari,
“The
Function
of
Fortune
in
Dante,
Boccaccio
and
Machiavelli,”
Italica

24,
no.
1
(March
1947):
2.

25

wheels,
one
fast
and
the
other
slow,
within
each
of
which
is
another
small

wheel
that
has
a
contrary
movement.”
63

Like
the
Roman
de
la
Rose
and
Carmina
Burana,
the
Remède
de

Fortune
was
a
collection
of
poems
and
musical
settings,
functioning
together

as
a
lyric
allegory,
that
involved
Fortune
and
her
participation
in
life’s

passing.
“The
[Remède
de
Fortune]
is
a
typical
medieval
treatise
on
Love
and

Fortune
that
Machaut
enlivened
by
framing
it
in
a
realistic
narrative
of
a

personal
love
affair.”
64

Guillaume
de
Machaut
uses
the
metaphor
of
two

buckets
rising
and
falling
in
a
well
to
depict
Fortune’s
changing
whims.

Shakespeare
echoes
this
description
in
his
historical
play,
Richard
II,
written

about
a
monarch
who
ruled
near
the
end
of
Machaut’s
life.
65

Now
is
this
golden
crown
like
a
deep
well

That
owes
two
buckets,
filling
one
another,

The
emptier
ever
dancing
in
the
air,

The
other
down
and
full
of
tears
am
I,

Drinking
my
griefs,
while
you
mount
up
on
high.
66

63

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Mediaeval
Literature,
170.

64

Richard
H.
Hoppin,
Medieval
Music:
the
Norton
Introduction
to
Music
History
(New
York:
W.

W.
Norton
&
Company,
1978),
401-‐402.

65

There
is
a
wealth
of
research
documenting
Machaut’s
influence
on
English
medieval

thought,
most
notably
Chaucer.
See
G.
L.
Kittredge,
“Guillaume
de
Machaut
and
The
Book
of

the
Duchess,”
PMLA
30,
no.
1
(1915):1-‐24;
William
Calin,
“Machaut’s
Legacy:
The
Chaucerian

Inheritance
Reconsidered,”
Studies
in
the
Literary
Imagination
20
(
(1987):
9-‐22;
James
I.

Wimsatt,
“Medieval
and
Modern
in
Chaucer’s
Troilus
and
Criseyde,”
PMLA
92,
no.
2
(March

1977):
203-‐216;
Thomas
P.
Campbell,
“Machaut
and
Chaucer:
‘Ars
Nova’
and
the
Art
of

Narrative,”
The
Chaucer
Review
24,
no.4
(Spring
1990):
275-‐289.

66

William
Shakespeare,
Richard
II,
IV.I.184,
quoted
in
Raymond
Chapman,
“The
Wheel
of

Fortune
in
Shakespeare’s
Historical
Plays,”
The
Review
of
English
Studies,
New
Series
1,
no.
1

(Jan
1950):
4.
Although
Shakespeare
wrote
Richard
II
in
the
late
sixteenth
century,
he
was

using
the
metaphor
contemporary
with
Richard’s
rule.
Chapman
provides
an
interesting

26

Machaut
wrote
the
Remède
de
Fortune
in
the
1340s
and
was

meticulous
with
his
organization
of
the
manuscript,
placing
the
musical

settings
within
the
manuscript,
not
at
the
end,
unlike
many
other

contemporary
manuscripts.
67

This
was
not
Machaut’s
only
attempt
to

capture
Fortune
in
a
musical
setting:
she
is
also
featured
prominently
in

several
other
works.
One
of
his
lais,
no.
17,
entitled
Le
Lay
de
confort,

contains
a
central
theme
of
“the
triumph
of
the
human
spirit
over
the

injustice
and
fickleness
of
Fortune.”
68

She
is
also
featured
in
his
eighth
motet,

a
combinative
text
setting
of
Ha!
Fortune/Qui
is
promesses
de
Fortune/Et
non

est
qui
adjuvet.
This
motet
combines
secular
descriptions
of
Fortune
with
a

Latin
Psalm
text.
The
technique
of
combining
sacred
and
secular
texts
grows

more
popular
throughout
the
fourteenth
and
fifteenth
century
and
plays
a

major
role
in
the
combinative
re-‐workings
of
Fortuna
desperata.
69

Giovanni
Boccaccio
supports
Dante’s
view
of
Fortune,
making
her

subservient
to
Divine
Will.
However,
“in
Boccaccio
this
disinterested

tranquility
of
Fortune
is
substituted
by
a
mischievous
and
interested

discussion
regarding
Shakespeare’s
historical
plays,
clearly
showing
a
connection
to
what
he

calls
the
“Fortune
formula.”

67

Hoppin,
Medieval
Music,
402.

68

Virginia
Newes,
“Turning
Fortune’s
Wheel:
Musical
and
Textual
Design
in
Machaut’s

Canonic
Lais,”
Musica
Disciplina
45
(1991):
115.

69

The
symbolism
and
meaning
behind
such
combinations
will
be
discussed
in
further
detail

in
Chapter
4.

27

cunning.”
70

Patch
argues
that
Boccaccio
paints
a
picture
of
both
a
Pagan
and

Christian
Fortune,
advising
the
use
of
the
pagan
remedies
but
also
linking
her

to
the
greater
God
of
the
universe.
When
Boccaccio
approaches
Fortune
in
De

Casibus
Virorum
Illustrium
71

with
questions
about
the
secrets
of
the
world,

“she
answers
that
men
have
painted
her
as
obstinate,
hard,
foolish,
and
blind,

because
they
cannot
see
the
secrets
of
the
heavens;
they
themselves
are

blinded
by
the
desire
of
worldly
wealth.”
72

Italian
and
French
intellectuals
boasted
the
majority
of
Fortune’s

medieval
literary
appearances,
however,
her
influence
extended
beyond
the

boundaries
of
central
Europe.
73

Geoffrey
Chaucer
was
inspired
to
write
his

Ballade
of
Fortune
after
reading
and
translating
Boethius
and
Machaut’s

works.
Chaucer
embraces
the
Christian
Fortune
and
links
her
to
the
inner

workings
of
God’s
universe
with
an
approach
related
to
Dante
but
still

unique.
74

70

Cioffari,
“The
Function
of
Fortune,”
3.

71

Boccaccio
wrote
De
Casibus
Virorum
Illustrium
(On
the
Fates
of
Famous
Men)
in
the

fourteenth
century.
It
is
a
collection
of
biographies
of
famous
figures
and
documents
their

rise
and
inevitable
fall
from
fortune.

72

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Medieval
Philosophy,
211.

73

It
is
of
interest
that
there
was
such
a
concentration
of
works
written
about
Fortune
in

fourteenth
and
fifteenth
century
Italy.
Although
they
are
primarily
pagan
references
in

shorter
poetic
works,
her
influence
on
the
Italian
culture
and
specifically
the
Florentines

outline
a
more
defined
trend.

74

Howard
R.
Patch,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
the
‘Divine
Comedy,’”
Annual
Reports
of
the

Dante
Society
33
(1914):
25.

28

Christine
de
Pizan
wrote
her
stimulating
work,
Livre
de
la
Mutacion
de

Fortune
[The
Book
of
the
Mutation
of
Fortune],
in
1402,
as
an
allegorical

autobiographical
account
of
her
natural
birth
as
a
woman
and
“
‘the
mutation

of
Fortune’
that
transformed
her
into
a
man.”
75

Pizan’s
description
of
Fortune

in
Mutacion
de
Fortune
is
an
uniquely
feminine
perspective.
“Thus
I
will

recount
how
I
saw
Fortune
(who
is
different
for
each
person),
clearly
visible

to
the
eye,
although
she
is
invisible,
and
how
I
lived
with
her
and
suffered

many
disasters,
for
she
is
a
great,
crowned
queen,
and
more
feared
than
any

other
thing
alive.”
76

Pizan’s
allusion
to
Fortune
being
different
for
each

person
–
thus
mutating
to
interact
with
the
individual
–
seems
to
echo
some

of
the
Roman
attitudes
towards
the
goddess.
Boethius
and
the
Roman
de
la

Rose
also
heavily
influenced
Pizan.
Her
cosmopolitan
perspective
on
Fortuna

reflects
a
medieval
world
functioning
as
a
vast
network
of
philosophical

ideas
linked
through
literary
and
artistic
transmission.

Although
this
is
not
an
exhaustive
list
of
literary
portrayals
of
Fortune,

they
provide
a
comprehensive
picture
of
the
medieval
Fortuna
and
we
are
in

a
better
position
to
understand
the
Fortuna
of
the
Renaissance.
For
centuries,

Fortuna
maintained
a
pagan
persona
and
a
Christian
one,
both
embraced
by

75

Newman,
God
and
Goddesses,
118.

76

Christine
de
Pizan,
Le
Livre
de
la
mutacion
de
Fortune,
trans.
by
Kevin
Brownlee,
from
The

Selected
Writings
of
Christine
de
Pizan,
ed.
by
Renate
Blumenfeld-‐Kosinski,
(New
York:
W.
W.

Norton
&
Company,1997),
90.

29

literary
forms.
The
Renaissance,
however,
brings
about
an
intriguing
reversal

of
Fortuna’s
own
fate.
It
seems
she
has
completed
her
own
cycle
and

returned
to
a
more
Classic
role:
the
fickle,
pagan
goddess.

Fortuna
in
the
Renaissance

Just
as
the
medieval
thinkers
found
comfort
in
systems
and
a

fascination
with
the
concept
of
high
to
low,
Renaissance
minds
found

inspiration
in
the
idea
of
transformation.
In
the
1420s,
Italy
experienced
a

renewed
interest
in
humanism
and
with
it
a
revamped
educational
hierarchy.

The
new
curriculum
focused
on
the
Latin
and
Greek
teachings
regarding

grammar,
literature,
rhetoric,
and,
of
course,
music.
Boethius
became
a

cornerstone
figure
for
the
transmission
of
music
theory
between
antiquity

and
the
Middle
Ages
and
his
revived
position
drew
attention
to
both
his

musical
teachings
and
his
swan-‐song,
The
Consolation
of
Philosophy.
“In
the

Renaissance
[Fortune]
comes
into
full
vigor
as
an
appropriate
embodiment
of

the
paganism
and
superstition
of
the
time.”
77

Fortuna
enjoyed
a
brief
respite

as
a
ministering
angel
of
God
thanks
to
Dante
and
Chaucer,
but
as
she

77

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Mediaeval
Literature,
26.

30

emerged
upon
the
horizon
of
the
Renaissance,
she
once
again
became
a
fickle

source
of
unrest,
the
receiver
of
ill
will.

Nowhere
is
this
transformation
more
evident
than
in
her
artistic

representations.
During
the
Middle
Ages,
Fortuna
often
appears
as
a
wimpled

woman,
turning
a
wheel.
At
the
turn
of
the
fifteenth
century,
however,

images
of
Fortuna
bear
a
remarkable
resemblance
to
images
from
Antiquity.

The
iconography
focuses
on
symbols
such
as
the
rudder
and
the
orb;
the

wheel
is
less
prevalent.
She
re-‐emerges
as
an
individual
personality,
with
a

presence
separate
from
the
Christian
ideal.

Renaissance
artist,
Nicoletto
de
Modena,
created
an
engraving
of

Fortuna
at
the
turn
of
the
sixteenth
century.
Her
image
shares
a
closer

affinity
with
the
Classical
representations
of
Fortuna
than
it
is
to
her

medieval
counterparts.
Some
of
this
can
be
explained
by
the
rise
of

humanism
(and
focus
on
anatomical
renderings),
but
the
symbolism

embraced
by
Renaissance
artists
shows
a
definite
return
to
earlier

iconography.

31

Figure
1.3
Fortuna
engraving,
Nicoletto
da
Modena,
ca.
1500,

www.consilvio.it/Incontri_storia_arte/Maschere_e_maschere/La_Fortuna.html

In
comparison
to
“Tyche
of
Antioch,”
Nicoletto
da
Modena’s
rendering

of
Fortuna
reveals
striking
similarities.
Although
Tyche
wears
the
mural

32

crown,
da
Modena
has
chosen
to
represent
Fortuna’s
reign
over
the
city
in
a

more
literal
sense;
the
city
walls
flank
Fortune
along
the
banks
of
the
water.

And
while
Tyche
sits
on
her
rocky
perch,
da
Modena
instead
places
the
cliffs

on
Fortune’s
right.
Both
depictions
draw
the
focus
towards
the
figure’s
foot,

symbolically
representing
control
over
man’s
fate
(Tyche)
or
the
fate
of
the

world
(Fortuna).
The
rudder
and
orb
also
regain
popularity.

Patch
distinguishes
between
whether
Fortuna
is
sitting
or
standing.

Quoting
research
by
W.H.
Roscher,
Patch
notes
that
“
‘the
sitting
Fortuna
is

evidently
not
so
mobile,
so
transitory,
so
fleeting
a
creature,
but
is

considered
as
a
Fortune
who
has
paused
for
a
longer
stay.’”
78

Having
been

freed
from
the
confines
of
her
wheel,
the
Renaissance
Fortune
once
again
has

the
luxury
of
embracing
her
fickle
nature.

The
forelock
is
another
new
addition,
representing
Occasio,
or
chance.

“Renaissance
neo-‐classicism
equated
Fortuna
with
Occasio,
and
borrowed

certain
of
the
latter’s
emblems.
It
was
at
this
time
that
Fortune
acquired
her

forelock,
which
must
be
grasped
before
she
fled
away.”
79

This
new

symbolism
is
examined
in
Machiavelli’s
Capitolo
sulla
Fortuna.
“In
order
to

prevent
the
determinism
inherent
in
the
Mediaeval
definition
of
Free
Will,

78

Patch,
Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature,
145.

79

Chapman,
“The
Wheel
of
Fortune,”
1.

33

Fortune
presents
the
occasione,
leaving
it
up
to
the
individual
to
recognize

the
course
of
action
that
is
going
to
be
advantageous
to
him.”
80

Sandro
Botticelli’s
influence
in
the
above
engraving
of
Fortuna
is
clear.

His
Birth
of
Venus
shares
some
remarkable
similarities
with
the
image
of

Fortuna:
the
pose
of
the
model,
the
flow
of
the
figure’s
hair,
the
landscape

relationship
between
the
water
and
the
land.
The
link
between
Fortune
and

Venus
is
not
a
new
concept;
they
shared
the
same
festival
day
in
ancient

Rome.
“The
eventual
identification
of
Venus
and
Fortuna
throws
an

interesting
sidelight
on
the
joint
appearance
of
Love
and
Fortuna
so
frequent

in
the
songs
of
the
Middle
Ages
and
the
Renaissance.”
81

The
involvement
of

Fortuna
in
the
love
stories
of
the
medieval
allegories,
and
her
sisterly

relationship
with
Venus,
although
hidden,
seems
to
have
strengthened

through
the
years
leading
into
the
Renaissance.
Botticelli’s
use
of
Fortuna
as

an
artistic
inspiration
becomes
even
more
pronounced
when
history
reveals

that
the
untimely
death
of
his
rumored
model
–
Simonetta
–
may
have

inspired
an
Italian
poet
to
pen
the
infamous
Fortuna
desperata.
82

Harkening
back
to
the
cult
of
Fortuna-Panthea,
Renaissance
Fortuna

becomes
linked
to
other
gods
and
goddesses
and
their
attributes.
Not
only
is

Fortuna
connected
to
Venus,
musical
theorists
find
connections
between

80

Cioffari,
“The
Function
of
Fortune,”
9.

81

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
73.

82

This
will
be
discussed
further
in
Chapter
2.

34

Fortune
and
Jupiter
and
Hermes.
83

In
the
collection
of
emblems,
Emblemata

(1531),
compiled
by
Andrea
Alciati,
an
Italian
writer,
we
find
a
series
of

emblems
involving
Fortune.
84

Perhaps
the
most
intriguing
involves
the

emblem
found
under
the
motto,
Ars
naturam
adiuvans,
[Art
assisting
nature].

In
it,
Fortune,
blindfolded,
sits
opposite
Hermes.

Figure
1.4.
Emblem
99
from
Alciato's
Book
of
Emblems,

http://www.mun.ca/alciato/e099.html

As
Fortune
on
her
sphere,
so
Mercury
sits
upon
his

cube:
he
presides
over
the
arts,
she
over
chance
events.

83

The
link
between
Fortune
and
the
other
gods
is
most
notable
in
the
use
of
modes
and
their

codification
as
being
representative
of
the
gods.
Ramos
de
Pareja’s
Musica
practica
of
1482

lists
the
modes
and
their
gods.
The
connection
between
modes
and
the
Fortuna
settings
will

be
explored
in
more
detail
in
the
Chapter
3.

84

The
development
and
collection
of
emblems
was
another
Renaissance
phenomenon.
In

addition
to
Alciati’s
collection
of
emblems,
Caspar
Othmayr
of
Amberg
published
a
collection

of
mottoes
set
to
music,
Symbola
Illustrissimorum
Principum,
Nobilium,
Aliorumque
doctrina,

ac
virtutum
ornamentis
praestantium
Virorum.
Musicis
numeris
esplicata
(1547).

35

Art
is
made
against
the
force
of
fortune;
but
when

fortune
is
bad,
it
often
requires
the
help
of
art.

Therefore,
eager
youths,
learn
the
good
arts,
that
have

with
them
the
advantages
of
certain
fate.
85

The
new
Renaissance
attitude
towards
Fortune
seems
to
be
an
abrupt

about-‐face
from
the
medieval
perspective.
Whereas
the
aim
of
medieval

writing
was
to
consolidate
Fortune
with
the
Christian
concept
of
the

universe,
the
Renaissance
attitude
not
only
encourages
her
pagan
elements,

it
strengthens
her
ties
to
other
gods
of
antiquity.

Machiavelli
challenged
the
concept
of
Fortune
being
in
control
of

man’s
fate
and
the
idea
that
she
was
a
divine
agent.
What
caused
this
shift?

The
edict
to
“seize
the
opportunity”
seems
more
in
line
with
the
Roman

attitude.
Is
it
a
coincidence
that
the
Fortuna
desperata
text
sprang
from

Florence,
Machiavelli’s
birthplace,
and
that
the
song
and
its
combinative

offspring
appear
at
roughly
the
same
time
as
this
new
perception
of
Fortune?

In
non-‐democratic
societies
.
.
.
the
change
of

government
is
usually
accompanied
by
the
catastrophic

downfall
of
those
expelled
from
positions
of
power.
The

most
widespread
symbol
of
Fortuna
shows
the
goddess

turning
the
spokes
of
the
wheel
on
top
of
which
sits
the

crowned
king
with
scepter
and
sphere;
he
looks
to
his

predecessor
on
the
right
tumbling
down
headlong
who

in
turn
beholds
the
one
who
is
at
the
bottom
of
the

85

Image
and
caption
from
website,
http://www.mun.ca/alciato/e099.html,
the
Memorial

Web
edition
in
Latin
and
English
of
Alciato’s
Book
of
Emblems.
For
more
information
on

Fortune’s
emblem,
see
Edward
Lowinsky,
“Matthaeus
Greiter’s
‘Fortuna’:
an
Experiment
in

Chromaticism
and
in
Musical
Iconography
–
I,”
The
Musical
Quarterly
42,
no.
4
(Oct
1956):

516-‐518.

36

wheel,
whereas
on
the
left
the
sitting
figure
clinging
to

the
spokes
of
the
wheel,
but
lifting
eyes
and
left
hand

longingly
upward,
is
on
the
ascent
to
the
seat
of

power.
86

By
following
Fortune’s
historical
evolution
through
changing
cultures,

religions
and
literary
traditions,
one
reaches
a
better
understanding
of
who

she
represented
to
the
Renaissance
thinker
and
more
specifically,
the

Renaissance
musician.
Despite
being
a
goddess
who
embraced
and

encouraged
change,
she
not
only
weathered
it,
she
became
more
fixed
as
a

figure
that
inspires
humility,
virtue
and,
in
the
Machiavellian
sense
of
the

word,
opportunism.

In
C.S.
Lewis’
overview
of
literary
works
from
what
he
calls
the

‘Seminal
Period,’
he
references
several
chapters
by
Chalcidius
(fourth

century),
entitled
“On
the
utility
of
Sight
and
Hearing.”

According
to

Chalcidius,
sight
is
given
to
man
so
that
he
may
view
the
“
‘wheeling

movements
of
mind
and
providence
in
the
sky’
and
then,
in
the
movement
of

their
own
souls,
try
to
imitate
as
nearly
as
they
can
that
wisdom,
serenity
and

peace.”
87

The
reference
to
movement
as
part
of
a
system
of
wheels
invokes

the
image
of
Fortune
turning
her
wheel.
However,
Fortune
is
blind.
Her

blindness
functions
allows
her
to
maintain
an
air
of
neutrality
in
regards
to

86

Lowinsky,
“Greiter’s
Fortuna,”
515-‐516.

87

Lewis,
The
Discarded
Image,
55.

37

man’s
fate,
but
it
also
prevents
her
from
ever
“seeing”
the
order
of
the
God’s

universe
–
any
man
caught
on
her
wheel
is
also
blind
to
God’s
universe.
Only

with
the
gift
of
sight
(granted
either
through
virtue
or
wisdom)
can
he
free

himself
from
the
confines
of
Fortune’s
wheel.
Chalcidius
also
writes
of

hearing
that
it
is
“exists
principally
for
the
sake
of
music.”
88

As
previously

mentioned,
Fortune
can
be
soothed
by
music
–
perhaps
because
she
cannot

see,
the
music
provides
a
glimpse
of
the
order
of
the
universe.
“And
as
in
a

wheel
the
nearer
we
get
to
the
centre
the
less
motion
we
find,
so
every
finite

being,
in
proportion
as
he
comes
nearer
to
participating
in
the
Divine

(unmoving)
Nature,
becomes
less
subject
to
Destiny,
which
is
merely
a

moving
image
of
eternal
Providence.”
89

It
is
descriptions
such
as
these
that

capture
the
attraction
of
Fortune;
she
embodies
hope
despite
her
history

with
failure
and
separation.
Fortune
emerges
as
a
figure
whose
personality

and
iconography
has
become
so
complex
and
layered
that
she
embodies

opposing
duality:
Pagan
or
Christian?
Jupiter
or
Venus?
Friend
or
Foe?

As

the
focus
turns
to
the
fifteenth
century
musical
phenomenon,
Fortuna

desperata,
one
discovers
that
her
ambiguity
has
been
transformed
into

versatility.

88

Ibid.,
56.

89

Ibid.,
87.
In
his
summary
of
Boethius’
perspective
on
Fortuna,
Lewis
provides
a
succinct

description
of
a
larger
medieval
mindset.

38

Chapter
2

Fortuna
Desperata

Music
the
fiercest
griefs
can
charm,

And
fate’s
severest
rage
disarm.
1

It
isn’t
until
after
the
first
millennium
that
Fortuna
appears

extensively
in
the
musical
area.
Up
to
this
point,
she
enjoyed
a
healthy
role
in

the
visual
arts
(and
of
course
the
philosophical
and
literary
world
as

indicated
by
the
previous
research)
but
at
the
turn
of
the
millennium,
she

begins
to
take
on
more
complex
roles
in
allegory
–
a
favorite
medieval
form
–

and
her
musical
persona
starts
to
gain
momentum.

By
entering
a
new

artistic
arena,
Fortuna
accumulates
additional
levels
of
symbolism
and

symbolic
devices.
However,
in
the
fifteenth
century,
Fortuna
experiences
a

veritable
explosion
of
musical
representations.
Her
constant
presence
in

fifteenth
century
poetry
makes
her
a
prime
subject
for
musical

interpretations
by
the
compositional
masters
–
William
Byrd,
Josquin
des

Prez,
Jacob
Obrecht
–
but
the
appearance
of
the
three-‐voice
song,
Fortuna

desperata,

creates
the
biggest
musicological
phenomenon.
Although

1

Alexander
Pope,
Ode
for
musick
on
St.
Cecilia’s
Day,
the
Third
edition,
Eighteenth
Century

Collections
Online
(ECCO),
(London:
Print
Editions,
1719)
verse
VII,
lines
1-‐2.

39

extensive
research
has
already
been
done
on
the
compositional
components

of
this
phenomenon,
very
little
has
been
written
to
incorporate
these
works

into
a
larger
body
of
Fortuna
symbolism
and
to
attempt
to
link
the
explosion

to
any
historical
or
cultural
event.

Historically,
Fortuna
underwent
a
series
of
transformations,
from
a

fortuitous
anchor
(early
Roman
Empire)
to
a
personal
goddess
(mid-‐Roman

Empire)
to
neutral
servant
(Boethius)
to
minister
of
God
(Dante)
and
finally

to
a
two-‐faced,
opportunistic
deity
(Machiavelli).
Her
musical
appearances

reveal
intimate
portraits
of
the
goddess
with
characteristics
of
all
of
her

personas.
By
studying
and
cataloguing
these
appearances
and
the

accompanying
musical
symbolism,
one
can
build
a
more
comprehensive

understanding
of
the
Goddess
and
her
role
in
Renaissance
culture.

“That
the
musicians
shared
in
the
prevailing
view
of
Fortuna
as
a

power
to
be
feared
rather
than
loved
may
perhaps
be
deduced
from

numerous
settings
of
Fortuna
desperata
as
chanson,
as
keyboard
piece,
and

as
a
basis
for
a
whole
Mass.
Other
songs,
too,
such
as
the
French
Fortuna
par

ta
cruaulte
or
the
English
Fortune
my
Foe
show
in
what
awe
Fortuna
was

held
among
poets
and
musicians
of
the
Renaissance.”
2

The
idea
of
using

music
to
soothe
fate
and
charm
Fortune
reaches
back
to
Antiquity
with
the

story
of
Orpheus
charming
Hades
and
the
demons
of
the
Underworld
in

2

Lowinsky,
“Greiter’s
Fortuna,”
518-‐519.

40

order
to
rescue
his
bride,
Eurydice.
Boethius
uses
this
story
in
his
Consolation

of
Philosophy
and
mentions,
several
times,
the
use
of
music
to
soothe
his
own

relationship
with
Fortune.
“By
the
weight
of
your
tenets
and
the

delightfulness
of
your
singing
you
have
so
refreshed
me
that
I
know
think

myself
capable
of
facing
the
blows
of
Fortune.”
3

Alexander
Pope,
the
English

poet
and
Classics
scholar,
also
acknowledges
music’s
power
over
the

savagery
of
Fortune
in
his
Ode
for
musick.
The
theme
of
soothing
Fortuna

easily
translates
into
musical
settings
but
more
often,
in
the
medieval
works

dedicated
to
Fortuna,
one
encounters
the
theme
of
lament.
She
is
not

addressed
directly
but
rather
bemoaned
as
being
just
outside
the
human

realm
of
influence.
The
Christian
Fortuna,
so
beautifully
constructed
by

Dante,
presents
an
interesting
possibility
for
composers:
the
potential
to

combine
efforts
to
soothe
Fortune
and
worship
God.
And
finally,
Fortuna
is

often
used
as
a
musical
metaphor
for
the
hardships
of
life.
This
chapter
will

explore
her
musical
symbolism
in
various
settings
and
provide
an

introduction
to
the
three-‐voice
song,
Fortuna
desperata,
one
of
the
crowning

musical
monuments
to
Fortuna.

3

Boethius,
Consolation
of
Philosophy,
47.
This
is
Boethius’
response
after
his
nurse,

Philosophy,
sings
to
him
in
an
attempt
to
help
him
understand
the
ways
of
Fortune.

41

Musical
Atmosphere
during
the
mid
to
late
1400s

In
the
1420s,
compositional
styles
often
mixed
Ars
Nova
and
more

modern
traditions
of
the
Low
Countries.
Composers
such
as
Guillaume
du

Fay
and
Gilles
Binchois
helped
to
define
perhaps
one
of
the
most
influential

Renaissance
traditions:
the
French
chanson.
The
troubadour
tradition
helped

shaped
this
secular
art
form
and
establish
the
formes
fixes
in
the
late

thirteenth
century.
There
were
three
major
poetic
forms:
the
rondeau,
virelai

and
ballade,
and
most
established
composers
of
the
fifteenth
century

explored
all
three
forms.
Given
the
constantly
changing
landscape
of
sacred

musical
forms,
the
formal
elements
of
the
chanson
and
formes
fixes
remained

relatively
stable
from
1300
through
1500.
4

Although
the
forms
stayed

constant,
composers
experimented
with
the
treatment
of
established

chansons,
kicking
off
the
combinative
frenzy
of
the
third
quarter
of
the

fifteenth
century.

Allan
Atlas
dates
the
rise
of
the
“combinative
chanson”
during
the

latter
half
of
the
fifteenth
century.

The
generation
of
[Johannes]
Ockeghem
and
[Antoine]
Busnois

developed
the
double
and
triple
chanson
into
a
highly
stylized
genre

balancing
sophisticated
Burgundian
melodies
and
forthright
popular

4

Allan
Atlas,
Renaissance
Music:
Music
in
Western
Europe,
1400-1600,
(New
York:
W.W.

Norton
&
Company,
1998),
57.
The
formes
fixes
include
the
rondeau,
virelai,
and
ballade.

42

tunes;
that
of
Josquin
and
Compère
introduced
the
intimate
chanson-‐
motet
in
which
Biblical
mottoes
comment
on
courtly
poetry.
5

Generally,
one
melody
embodied
a
popular
attitude
while
another

reflected
a
spiritual
or
serious
perspective.
Borrowing
music
was
not
a
new

phenomenon
to
Renaissance
composers
–
cantus
firmus
mass
settings
and

motets
were
already
in
heavy
rotation
as
was
the
technique
of
combining

texts
6

–
but
starting
in
the
mid-‐fifteenth
century,
there
arose
what
Atlas
dubs

the
“Hit
Parade,”
a
select
few
secular
songs
that
inspired
hundreds
of
new

compositions.
7

“These
relatively
few
art
songs
generated
a

disproportionately
large
number
of
derived
compositions
that
touched
both

sacred
and
secular
realms.”
8

Maria
Maniates’
divides
combinative
techniques

into
four
distinct
categories:
the
quodlibet;
the
combinative
chanson;
the

motet-‐chanson;
and
the
motet
with
a
secular
cantus
firmus.
9

In
her
article,
“Art-‐Song
Reworkings,”
Honey
Meconi
identifies

thirteen
major
players
of
the
combinative
frenzy,
Fortuna
desperata
being

5

Maria
Maniates,
“Quodlibet
Revisum,”
Acta
Musicologica
38,
Fasc.
2/4
(Apr.-‐Dec.
1966):

171.

6

Not
only
was
the
combination
of
texts
a
popular
medieval
technique,
the
combination
of

Fortuna
texts
had
already
been
established
most
notably
by
Machaut
in
Motet
8,
Ha!
Fortune.

This
motet
combines
a
French
triplum
and
motetus
with
a
Latin
tenor
(text
taken
from
the

responsory
for
Passion
Sunday,
Psalm
21:12).

7

Atlas,
Renaissance
Music,
189.

8

Honey
Meconi,
“Art-‐Song
Reworkings:
An
Overview,”
Journal
of
the
Royal
Musical

Association
119,
no.
1
(1994):
2.

9

Julie
Cumming,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
Revisited,”
Current
Musicology
30
(1980):
9.

43

one
of
the
most
popular,
second
only
to
De
tous
bien
plaine.
10

“Most
of
the

models
are
three-‐voice
forme-fixe
chansons
from
mid-‐fifteenth
century,
not

structurally
different
from
their
contemporaries.”
11

Meconi
does
not
venture

to
guess
why
these
songs
occupied
such
positions
of
musical
obsession,
she

simply
aims
to
provide
a
comprehensive
overview.
However,
this

combinative
trend
invites
a
deeper
exploration
of
the
particular
songs
and

their
textual,
symbolic
and
musical
components.
Fortuna
desperata
is
the

only
song
included
in
the
combinative
families
not
set
to
a
French
text,

making
it
arguably
the
one
of
the
most
influential
Italian
songs
at
the
turn
of

the
fifteenth
century.

In
addition
to
combinative
re-‐workings,
composers
in
the
fifteenth

century
also
engaged
in
a
technique
called
imitatio.
“Imitation
was
arguably

the
most
important
procedure
in
Renaissance
literature.
It
was
a
major

process
that
invaded
virtually
every
sphere
of
creative
activity.
By
contrast,

polyphonic
modeling
in
Renaissance
music
was
but
one
of
many

compositional
processes.”
12

Although
the
practice
of
borrowing
previously

existing
material
was
common,
Howard
Mayer
Brown
was
the
first
to
study

10

Meconi,
“Reworkings,”
4.

11

Ibid.,
6.

12

Honey
Meconi,
“Does
Imitatio
Exist?”
The
Journal
of
Musicology
12,
no.
2
(Spring
1994):

160.

44

the
technique
of
imitation
as
a
compositional
device.
13

His
research
was
in

response
to
Lewis
Lockwood’s
studies
of
musical
parody
in
the
Renaissance

who
first
used
suggested
that
the
term
‘parody’
was
perhaps
inaccurate
and

suggested
‘imitatio’
as
a
more
appropriate
replacement.
There
is,
in
fact,
an

ongoing
argument
regarding
the
use
of
the
term
‘imitatio’
as
representative

of
the
types
of
musical
borrowing
cultivated
in
the
Renaissance
but
for
the

purpose
of
this
paper,
Brown’s
definition
of
the
term
is
suitable.
14

Brown
suggests
three
potential
reasons
for
the
Renaissance
proclivity

for
imitation:
an
educational
tool
–
students
were
encouraged
to
imitate
the

masters
in
order
to
master
specific
compositional
concepts;
a
competitive

edge
–
one
composer
could
attempt
to
“out-‐compose”
another
by
revamping

his
material;
a
tribute
–
composers
would
incorporate
musical
material
by
a

respected
colleague
or
mentor
into
a
new
work.
It
is
important
to
note
that

Brown
distinguishes
between
parody
and
cantus
firmus
techniques
and
that

of
imitation;
imitation
uses
broader
compositional
styles
(structure,
theme)

rather
than
a
direct
quotation.
“It
seems
to
me
self-‐evident
that
the

13

Howard
Mayer
Brown,
“Emulation,
Competition,
and
Homage:
Imitation
and
Theories
of

Imitation
in
the
Renaissance,”
Journal
of
the
American
Musicological
Society
35,
no.
1
(Spring

1982):
1-‐48.

14

For
further
information
regarding
imitatio
and
its
place
among
musicological
verbiage,
see

Honey
Meconi,
“Does
Imitatio
Exist?”
The
Journal
of
Musicology
12,
no.
2
(Spring
1994):
152-‐
178;
Lewis
Lockwood,
“On
'Parody'
as
Term
and
Concept
in
16th-‐Century
Music,"
In
Aspects

of
Medieval
and
Renaissance
Music:
A
Birthday
Offering
to
Gustave
Reese,
ed.
Jan
La
Rue,
560-‐
575,
(New
York,
1966);
Rob
C.
Wegman,
"Another
'Imitation'
of
Busnoys's
Missa
L'Homme

armé
and
Some
Observations
on
Imitatio
in
Renaissance
Music,"
Journal
of
the
Royal
Musical

Association
CXIV
(1989):
189-‐202.

45

techniques
for
composing
a
piece
structurally
dependent
on
an
older
model,

for
freely
reworking
motives
and
textures
found
in
another
composer’s

works,
and
for
devising
new
continuations
to
old
beginnings,
all
relate

directly
to
late
medieval
and
Renaissance
concepts
of
imitation.”
15

In
the
case

of
Isaac
and
Senfl,
it
certainly
looks
to
be
imitation
of
model
choices;
the

Fortuna
desperata
settings
are
obviously
cases
of
re-‐workings
but

structurally
perhaps
there
are
also
instances
of
imitatio
between
composers.

Honey
Meconi
takes
Brown’s
study
further,
establishing
chronologically
that

the
technique
of
imitation
inspired
by
rhetoric
(as
Brown
claims)
was
more

likely
developed
in
the
sixteenth
century
(rather
than
the
fifteenth).
16

In

addition
to
the
three
categories
of
imitatio
listed
above,
Rob
Wegman

summarizes
Willem
Elders’
study
of
musical
symbolism
with
these
succinct

words,
“quotations,
borrowings
and
reworkings
can
be
seen
as
a
means
of

creating
a
symbolic
connection
between
the
text
or
textual
connotation
of
the

pre-‐existent
material
and
the
text
of
the
new
composition.”
17

This
is

especially
relevant
in
connection
to
the
Fortuna
desperata
re-‐workings
and

combinations
to
be
discussed
in
Chapter
4.

As
Brown
and
Meconi
acknowledge,
a
renewed
interest
in
humanism

15

Brown,
“Emulation,”
35.

16

Meconi,
“Imitatio,”
172.

17

Wegman,
Another
Imitation,
198-‐199.
Professor
Wegman
is
paraphrasing
the
study
by

Willem
Elders,
Studien
zur
Symbolik
in
der
Musik
der
alten
Niederländer
(Utrecht,
1968).

46

and
rhetoric
encouraged
the
steady
presence
of
imitation
in
Renaissance

arts.
Meconi,
although
she
presents
conflicting
arguments
in
favor
and

against
the
adoption
of
the
musicological
term,
imitatio,
acknowledges
the

influence
of
the
classical
models
on
Renaissance
thought.
“The
cult
of

imitation
in
Renaissance
literature
was
often
oriented
toward
the
imitation

of
classical
models.”
18

Fortuna
was
certainly
an
evolved
remnant
of
classical

thought
and
perhaps
the
popularity
of
her
symbol
was
partially
due
to
the

Renaissance
desire
to
reinvent
the
classics.

The
examination
of
the
original
canzonetta,
Fortuna
desperata,
and
its

musical
offspring
will
show
a
bevy
of
musical
devices
linked
to
the
distinct

Fortuna
symbolism.
Although
a
significant
amount
of
research
has
been
done

on
the
nuts
and
bolts
of
the
song
and
its
origins,
it
is
necessary
to
provide
a

brief
overview
of
its
musicological
history
before
one
can
begin
to
codify
the

musical
symbolism.

The
Text

Honey
Meconi
presents
the
most
thorough
study
on
the
origins
of
the

Fortuna
desperata
text.
By
comparing
two
manuscripts,
she
constructs
a

18

Meconi,
“Imitatio,”
158.

47

comprehensive
map
of
the
language,
form,
and
cultural
impact
of
the

strophic
poem.
19

The
two
manuscripts
containing
the
earliest
versions
of
the

text,
Perugia
431
and
London
16439,
present
an
unusual
case
of
similarities

and
discrepancies.
They
are
the
only
extant
manuscripts
to
contain
the

complete,
three-‐stanza
version
of
the
poem;
later
manuscripts
reveal

abbreviated
texts.
20

Perugia
431,
previously
thought
to
be
the
oldest
extant

manuscript
containing
Fortuna
desperata,
is
a
collection
of
both
literary
and

musical
settings.
London
16439,
a
collection
of
Florentine
Italian
poetry,

then,
seems
to
be
the
earliest
source
of
the
Fortuna
desperata
text,
placing

the
origin
of
the
poem
in
Florence
during
the
1470s.

The
collection
is
primarily
dedicated
to
Angelo
Poliziano,
a
Florentine

humanist
and
poet
linked
with
the
Medici
family.
In
addition
to
his
poetry,

the
collection
contains
four
poems
by
Dante,
five
poems
by
Lorenzo
de

Medici,
and,
of
course,
Fortuna
desperata.
The
collection
does
not
identify
the

author
of
the
text,
however,
Meconi
is
convinced
it
was
not
penned
by

Poliziano.
21

Within
the
collection,
Fortuna
desperata
is
the
final
poem.
It

seems
fitting
that
a
poem
linked
to
the
Goddess
of
Fortune
closes
a
collection

19

Honey
Meconi,
“Poliziano,
Primavera,
and
Perugia
431:
New
Light
on
Fortuna
desperata,”

In
Antoine
Busnoys:
Method,
Meaning
and
Content
in
Late
Medieval
Music,
ed.
Paula
Higgins

(Oxford:
Clarendon
Press,
1999),
465-‐497.

20

It
is
also
relevant
to
note
that
while
the
full
text
contains
three
stanzas,
none
of
the
musical

settings,
including
the
original
canzonetta,
used
more
than
the
first
stanza.

21

Meconi,
“Poliziano,”
473.

48

with
obvious
ties
to
the
Medici
family.
They
exemplified
a
family
risen
to

power,
the
highest
point
on
Fortuna’s
wheel,
regnabo.
A
nod
to
Fortuna

would
be
an
appropriate
acknowledgement
of
their
precarious
hold
on
their

fate.
Lorenzo
di
Medici
himself
wrote
several
poems
about
the
goddess

including,
Crudel
Fortuna,
a
che
condotto
m’hai
and
Fortuna,
come
suol
pur
mi

dileggia.
22

The
connection
between
Fortuna
desperata
and
the
Medici

becomes
even
more
significant
after
close
study
of
the
text
(and
further

strengthened
by
the
musical
setting).

The
Fortuna
desperata
text
contains
three
stanzas
sandwiched

between
a
recurring
refrain.
However,
within
the
combinative
settings,
the

composers
all
limit
themselves
to
using
the
first
stanza
only.
This
is

particularly
important
in
light
of
the
textual
differences
noted
by
Honey

Meconi
in
her
article,
“Poliziano,
Primavera,
and
Perugia
431:
New
Light
on

Fortuna
Desperata.”
23

Perugia
431
was
long
thought
to
be
the
manuscript

containing
the
poem
linked
with
the
three-‐voice
song,
however,
“the
superior

technical
construction
of
the
London
16439…
argues
for
its
being
the

original.”
24

The
London
manuscript
is
an
earlier
collection
of
Florentine

22

We
will
discuss
the
connection
between
the
Medici
and
Fortuna
later
in
this
chapter
in

conjunction
with
the
family’s
coat
of
arms.

23

Meconi,
“Poliziano,”
465-‐503.

24

Ibid.,
468.

49

poetry
and
the
poem
in
question
is
labeled
a
“canzonetta
intonata
antica.”
25

Meconi
takes
this
label
to
mean
that
musical
settings
already
existed.

In
comparing
the
two
texts,
Meconi
finds
the
second
text
to
be
“far

more
personal
and
arguably
more
effective”
(see
table
2.1).
The
differences

occur
primarily
in
the
second
and
third
stanza
neither
of
which
is
included
in

any
of
the
combinative
settings.
Therefore
it
is
possible
that
the
composers

working
under
the
combinative
umbrella
were
indeed
finding
inspiration
in

the
second,
more
personal
poem.
26

Table
2.1:
A
Comparison
of
Fortuna
desperata
Texts

Perugia
431

Fortuna
desperata

Iniqua
e
maledecta

Che,
de
tal
dona
electa,

La
fama
hai
denigrata.

Fortuna
desperata

O
morte
dispiatata,

Inimica
e
crudele,

Che,
d’alto
piú
che
stele,

Tu
l’hai
cusì
abassata.

Fortuna
desperata

Meschina
e
despietata,

Ben
piangere
posso
may,

Et
desiro
finire

Li
mei
guay.

Hopeless
fortuna

Unjust
and
cursed,

Who
has
defamed
the
reputation

Of
so
distinguished
a
lady.

Hopeless
fortune

O
pitiless
death,

Hostile
and
cruel,

Who
has
thus
lowered
one

Who
was
higher
than
the
stars.

Hopeless
fortune

Wretched
and
pitiless!

Well
can
I
cry
now,

And
I
desire
to
end

My
woes.

25

Honey
Meconi,
Fortuna
Desperata:
Thirty-Six
Settings
of
an
Italian
Song,
(Middleton,
WI:

RRMMA
37,
2001),
xvii.

26

Meconi,
“Poliziano,”
469.

50

Table
2.1
cont.

London
16439
version:

Fortuna
disperata,

Iniqua
&
maladecta,

Che
di
tal
Donna
electa

La
fama
ha
dineg[r]ata.

Fortuna
disperata,

Iniqua
&
maladecta.

Sempre
sia
bestemmiata,

La
tua
perfida
fede,

Che
in
te
non
ha
merzede,

Ne
fermeza
fondata.

Fortuna
disperata,

Iniqua
&
maladecta.

O
morte
dispietata,

Inimica
&
crudele,

Amara
piu
che
fele,

Di
malitia
fondata.

Fortuna
disperata,

Iniqua
&
maladecta.

Hopeless
fortune,

Unjust
and
cursed,

Who
has
denied
[defamed]
the

reputation

Of
so
distinguished
a
lady.

Hopeless
fortune,

Unjust
and
cursed.

May
your
treacherous
faith

Always
be
cursed,

For
there
is
no
mercy
in
you,

Nor
fixed
constancy.

Hopeless
fortune,

Unjust
and
cursed.

O
pitiless
death,

Hostile
and
cruel,

More
bitter
than
bile,

Founded
in
malice.

Hopeless
fortune,

Unjust
and
cursed.
27

The
first
textual
difference
is
the
spelling
of
the
second
word:

“desperata”
vs.
“disperata.”

The
meaning
of
the
word
is
not
affected
by
the

vowel
change
but
it
does
provide
scholars
with
a
kind
of
textual
tag,
making

it
a
bit
easier
to
link
certain
settings
and
manuscripts
with
others.
The
other

major
difference
in
the
first
stanza
is
in
the
fourth
line
of
text.
The
Perugia

431
version
uses
the
word
“denigrata”
which
translates
to
“defamed.”

The

27

Text
and
translations
from
Meconi,
“Poliziano,”
467.

51

London16439
manuscript
reveals
an
original
“dinegata”
which
a
scribe
later

corrects
by
adding
an
“r.”

The
word
“dinegata”
translates
to
“denied.”

The

difference
between
the
two
words
relates
to
action:
did
Fortuna
withhold
the

good
lady’s
reputation
or
did
she
actively
besmirch
her?
It
also
relates
to
the

potency
of
Renaissance
Fortuna’s
influence.
Was
she
viewed
as
a
literary

device
–
a
là
Jerold
Frakes
–
or
did
she
hold
more
sway
over
the
circling

wheel?

The
second
stanza
of
Perugia
431
assumes
the
role
of
an
active

Fortuna
and
describes
the
sudden
reversal
of
fortune
suffered
by
the
lady
in

question.
The
second
stanza
of
the
London
16439
version
retains
a
more

impersonal
perspective.
It
is
interesting
to
note,
however,
that
the
first
two

lines
of
the
second
stanza
in
Perugia
431
do
actually
appear
in
the
London

manuscript
but
as
the
beginning
of
the
third
stanza.
In
light
of
this

observation,
it
seems
possible,
though
difficult
to
prove,
that
both
versions

are
incomplete,
and
that
Fortuna
desperata
originally
had
four
stanzas

(perhaps
a
nod
to
the
four
points
of
Fortune’s
wheel?).

The
final
difference
between
the
two
texts
lies
in
their
treatments
of

the
refrain.
Both
frame
each
stanza
with
a
refrain
but
where
the
London

16439
manuscript
includes
the
full
Fortuna
desperata,
Iniqua
&
maladecta,

the
Perguia
431
manuscript
refrain
only
uses
the
first
line.
Meconi
observes

52

that
the
song
“Fortuna
desperata
uses
a
refrain
that
is
textual
only,
not

musical,
a
procedure
extremely
rare
in
the
fifteenth-‐century.”
28

The
rarity
of

this
procedure
potentially
affected
its
transmission:
scribes
sometimes

shortened
the
refrain
to
“f.d.”
leaving
the
performer
to
decide
how
to

incorporate
the
repeated
text.

In
addition
to
her
thorough
study
on
the
manuscripts
containing
the

Fortuna
desperata
texts,
Meconi
presents
further
interesting
research
and

conjecture
on
the
potential
subject
of
the
bitter
text.
“The
text
apparently

deals
with
the
change
in
fortune
of
a
high-‐ranking
woman,
with
the

implication
that
not
only
has
her
reputation
been
(unjustly)
damaged,
but

that
she
is
no
longer
alive.”
29

Continuing
her
well-‐supported
theory
that

Fortuna
desperata
of
Florentine
origin,
Meconi
combs
the
history
books
for

tragic
deaths
of
Florentine
noblewomen.
Based
on
chronological
and
cultural

deductions,
she
narrows
the
search
to
two
untimely
deaths
in
the
1470s:

Albiera
degli
Albizzi
of
pneumonia
in
1473,
and
Simonetta
Cattaneo
of

consumption
in
1476.
Both
women
had
ties
to
the
Medici
family
and
were

mourned
in
literary
circles
and
commemorative
collections.
30

Although

Meconi
presents
compelling
evidence
for
both,
Simonetta
looks
to
be
the

most
likely
candidate.
Poliziano,
whose
work
was
already
connected
to
the

28

Meconi,
“Poliziano,”
470.

29

Ibid.,
479.

30

Ibid.,
480-‐481.

53

first
manuscript
containing
the
Fortuna
desperata
text,
wrote
about
her
love

affair
with
Giuliano
de
Medici
in
his
famous
work,
Le
stanze
per
la
Giostra,

and
commemorated
her
death
with
no
less
than
four
Latin
epitaphs.
31

It
is

rumored
that
Simonetta
was
Botticelli’s
model
for
his
most
famous
paintings,

Primavera
and
The
Birth
of
Venus.
This
curious
fact
provides
yet
another
link

in
the
connection
between
Fortuna
and
Simonetta:
there
was
an
established

association
between
Fortuna
and
the
Goddess
of
Love,
Venus.
By
placing

Simonetta’s
likeness
in
the
face
of
Venus/Fortune,
she
is
both
embodied
and

immortalized.
C.S.
Lewis
notes
in
his
summary
of
the
Ptolemaic
model
of
the

universe
that
Planet
Venus
(who
represents
Venus,
the
goddess
of
Love)
“in

mortals
.
.
.
produces
beauty
and
amorousness;
in
history,
fortunate
events.”
32

Given
the
likelihood
that
Fortuna
desperata
was
written
in
response

to
a
real-‐life
tragic
death,
the
connection
between
Fortuna
desperata
and

Comme
femme
desconfortée
becomes
even
more
pointed:
was
there
a
French

woman
who
also
suffered
at
the
hands
of
Fortune?

Or
are
these
examples
of

the
medieval/Renaissance
technique
of
“humanizing”
the
Virgin
Mary
as
a

means
of
connecting
the
divine
to
the
earthly?
33

If
one
assumes
that
the

poem,
Fortuna
desperata,
was
written
as
a
tribute
to
Simonetta
(or
some

31

Ibid.,
481.

32

Lewis,
The
Discarded
Image,
107.

33

The
relationship
between
Fortuna,
Christian
Fortuna
and
the
Virgin
Mary
is
complicated

and
involved.
It
is
certainly,
however,
a
subject
that
deserves
further
study
and
Chapter
4

will
present
a
more
in-‐depth
examination
of
Fortuna’s
relationship
with
sacred
figures.

54

other
noblewoman),
then
the
date
of
her
death
provides
a
chronological

breadcrumb
for
reconstructing
a
Fortuna
desperata
timeline.
She
died
in

1476
so
the
text
could
not
have
been
written
any
earlier.
Even
if
the
lady
in

question
was
not
Simonetta,
a
specific
event
most
likely
inspired
the
poem.

Using
Meconi’s
research
regarding
manuscripts,
the
musical
setting
would

then
have
been
composed
shortly
after
the
appearance
of
the
text.
Barton

Hudson
provides
further
information
regarding
the
chronology
of
Fortuna

desperata:
musicologist
Frank
D’Accone
attributed
a
unique
bass
si
placet

voice
written
for
Fortuna
desperata
to
Sir
Felice
di
Giovanni
Martini
and

dated
in
1478.
34

The
Song

According
to
Meconi’s
extensive
research
on
the
Fortuna
desperata

settings,
the
earliest
manuscript
containing
the
Fortuna
desperata
song
is

Perugia
431,
in
1480,
and,
as
previously
mentioned,
it
presents
the
song
with

a
si
placet
setting,
no
attribution.
35

However,
it
does
not
present
the
original,

34

Barton
Hudson,
“Two
Ferrarese
Masses
by
Jacob
Obrecht,”
Journal
of
Musicology
4,
no.
3

(Summer
1985
–
Summer
1986):
276-‐302.

35

Meconi,
Thirty-Six
settings,
157.
Segovia,
the
only
source
to
attribute
the
song
to
Busnoys

was
not
printed
until
the
mid-‐1490s.
Obviously,
the
chronology
of
Fortuna
desperata
is
a

convoluted
one,
as
is
common
with
manuscripts
and
musical
works
from
this
period,
and

there
are
still
unresolved
issues
regarding
dating
various
Fortuna
desperata
settings.

55

three-‐voice
Fortuna
desperata,
instead
containing
a
variety
of
si
placet

settings,
leading
one
to
believe
that
it
was
compiled
“in
a
later
stage
of

[Fortuna
desperata’s]
life.”
36

The
original
song
was
written
for
three
voices:

superius,
tenor,
and
contratenor.
In
her
Fortuna
desperata
chronology,

Meconi
actually
lists
the
manuscript,
Paris
4379,
as
the
earliest
source
for
the

original
version
of
the
song,
however,
she
dates
it
between
1470-‐1485,

making
it
difficult
to
prove
whether
it
was
the
first
source.
37

Modest
in
range

and
length,
the
song
nonetheless
captured
the
attention
of
composers
for

more
than
seventy
years,
a
feat
most
impressive
given
that
the
span
of

musical
tastes
tended
to
shift
every
few
decades.

Antoine
Busnoys
is
commonly
cited
as
the
composer
of
Fortuna

desperata,
but
recent
scholarship
has
indicated
a
lack
of
evidence
to
support

this
authorship.
In
fact,
only
one
source
attributes
the
song
to
Busnoys,
the

Spanish
manuscript
dubbed
Segovia
and
“long
regarded
as
almost
a

watchword
for
unreliability.
38

Musicologists
Catherine
Brooks
and
Paula

Higgins
argued
in
favor
of
Busnoys
as
the
composer
while
Julie
Cumming,

Barton
Hudson
and
Joshua
Rifkin
find
the
attribution
dubious.
Despite
the

lively
debate,
most
scholars
agree
that
the
issue
of
authorship,
while

36

Meconi,
“Poliziano,”
469.

37

Meconi,
Thirty-Six
settings,
xxvii.

38

Joshua
Rifkin,
“Busnoys
and
Italy:
The
Evidence
of
Two
Songs,”
in
Antoine
Busnoys:

Method,
Meaning,
and
Context
in
Late
Medieval
Music,
ed.
Paula
Higgins
(Oxford:
Clarendon

Press,
1999),
521.

56

interesting,
has
no
direct
bearing
on
the
widespread
influence
of
the
song

itself.
39

Regardless,
it
seems
prudent
to
mention
several
main
points
from

both
camps.

The
most
obvious
point
made
by
those
in
favor
of
Busnoys
being
the

composer
of
Fortuna
desperata
is
that
he
is
the
only
name
listed
as
being
the

composer
of
the
original
song.
Of
course,
manuscripts
attribute
a
variety
of

settings
to
other
composers
(however,
it
is
prudent
to
remember
that
at
least

a
third
of
these
settings
are
anonymous),
but
the
argument
remains
that

there
is
no
conflict
of
attribution,
but
rather
a
lack.
Despite
the
unreliable

reputation
of
the
Segovia
attributions,
it
is
still
the
only
document
connecting

a
composer
name
to
the
composition.

Those
who
remain
unconvinced
cite
a
list
of
reasons
why
it
is
unlikely

that
the
song
was
written
by
Busnoys,
with
Julie
Cumming
providing
the

most
concise
reasoning:
1)
the
work
is
not
found
in
any
of
the
Central

Burgundian
sources
that
contain
Busnoys’
other
chansons;
2)
it
is
not
typical

of
any
of
his
other
works;
3)
all
but
one
of
his
other
chansons
were
written
in

French;
4)
most
of
his
chansons
are
written
in
the
formes
fixes
but
Fortuna

desperata
is
strophic.
40

Rifkin
presents
an
interesting
study
of
both
Fortuna

39

This
actually
becomes
an
interesting
point
given
the
use
of
imitatio
as
a
means
of
paying

tribute
to
a
composer.
No
mention
of
Busnoys
is
connected
to
any
of
the
Fortuna
desperata

combinative
re-‐workings
thus
making
it
harder
to
believe
that
he
was
the
original
composer.

40

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
8.

57

desperata
and
Con
tutta
gentileca
–
another
Italian
song
suspiciously

attributed
to
Busnoys
–
examining
travel
records
as
a
means
of
establishing

whether
Busnoys
spent
time
in
Italy,
or,
more
specifically,
Florence.
When

Heinrich
Isaac
and
Alexander
Agricola
traveled
to
Florence,
their
arrivals

resulted
in
heightened
circulation
of
their
compositions.
41

Florentine
records

from
the
1470s
are
strangely
absent
of
any
mention
of
Busnoys.
42

Given
the

intimate
relationship
between
text
and
form,
Rifkin
–
using
Barton
Hudson’s

research
to
strengthen
his
argument
–
finds
it
unlikely
that
a
composer

would
have
set
an
unfamiliar
language
to
music
without
first
spending
time

in
the
company
of
native
speakers
thus
making
it
unlikely
that
Busnoys

composed
Fortuna
desperata.
43

He
also
notes
the
unreliability
of
attributions

connected
to
the
Segovia
manuscript,
the
only
manuscript
that
connects

Busnoys
to
Fortuna
desperata.
44

Both
Rifkin
and
Meconi
present
Sir
Felice
as

a
possible
composer
of
Fortuna
desperata.
Sir
Felice
di
Giovanni
was
a

Florentine
composer
and
countertenor
with
connections
to
the
cathedral
of

41

Rifkin,
“Busnoys
and
Italy,”
553.

42

Rifkin
does
note,
however,
the
sudden
increase
of
Busnoys’
output
in
Florentine

manuscripts
in
the
1480s
without
providing
any
satisfactory
reason
for
his
popularity.
See

Rifkin,
“Busnoys
and
Italy,”
544-‐551.
The
issue
with
the
chronology
of
Fortuna
desperata

remains
the
same,
and
it
seems
unlikely
that
Busnoys
was
in
Florence
in
the
1470s
when
the

song
first
began
circulating.

43

Ibid.
See
also
Barton
Hudson,
“Two
Ferrarese
Masses,”
276-‐302.

44

Rifkin
presents
a
very
detailed
study
of
the
history
of
the
manuscript,
possible
connections

to
Busnoys
and
the
likely
transmission
of
music
from
across
Europe
to
Segovia.
See
his

article,
“Busnoys
and
Italy.”

58

Santa
Maria
del
Fiore.
45

There
is
an
ascription
to
Felice
for
a

contratenor

setting
in
the
Cappella
Giulia
chansonnier
but
Meconi
notes
that
the

ascription
might
refer
to
the
entire
work,
not
just
the
si
placet
voice.
46

Rifkin

finds
the
Cappella
Giulia
chansonnier
to
be
a
“a
kind
of
assembly
kit”
of

Fortuna
desperata,
containing
the
original
three-‐voice
version,
the
four-‐voice

version
with
the
added
altus
and
a
version
with
a
replacement
contratenor

bassus.
47

Both
musicologists
acknowledge
a
lack
of
conclusive
evidence

regarding
the
theory
of
Sir
Felice
as
composer
of
Fortuna
desperata.
Still,
it
is

an
attractive
option
given
that
Fortuna
desperata
was
almost
certainly
a

Florentine
work,
set
to
a
Florentine
text
and
Felice
was,
without
doubt,
a

Florentine
composer.

45

Rifkin,
563.

46

Meconi,
“Poliziano,”
493.

47

Rifkin,
564.

59

Example
2.1
Fortuna
desperata
48

48

The
following
edition
is
based
on
Honey
Meconi’s
edition
from
her
compilation,
Fortuna

desperata:
Thirty-six
Settings
of
an
Italian
Song,
3-‐4.
Editorial
ficta
is
included
in
parentheses

and
editorial
text
underlay
is
bracketed.
The
bassus
has
been
left
untexted
because,

according
to
Meconi,
it
“seems
less
likely
to
have
received
texted
performance,”
xvii.

60

Example
2.1
cont.

Observing
the
musical
construction
of
the
song,
one
notes
its

simplicity,
its
near
lack
of
imitation
and
the
security
of
the
Lydian
mode.

61

Some
musicologists
believe
that
the
relatively
primitive
compositional
style

is
another
substantial
reason
why
Busnoys
is
likely
an
incorrect
attribution.

However,
this
simplicity
makes
it
an
appealing
candidate
for
re-‐workings
and

combinative
settings.

The
song
starts
simply
enough
with
nearly
homophonic
textures
in

the
opening
four
measures.
The
starkness
of
the
opening
draws
attention
to

the
mirror
image,
or
palindrome,
of
the
tenor
line.
This
mirror
treatment

connects
to
the
Medici
coat
of
arms/emblem
(see
figure
2.1).
49

Figure
2.1
The
Medici
Coat-of-Arms,
assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/File:545px-
Coat_of_Arms_of_Medici.svg.png

49

I
am
in
debt
to
Adam
Gilbert
for
pointing
out
this
link
between
the
Palle,
palle
themes,
the

Medici
coat
of
arms,
and
the
palindrome
of
the
opening
phrase
of
Fortuna
desperata.

62

The
circular
nature
of
the
coat-‐of-‐arms
certainly
seems
symbolic
but,

when
folded
in
half,
also
represents
a
mirror
image.
This
symmetry
is

present
in
the
opening
tenor
line
but,
perhaps,
more
significantly,
the
use
of

this
mirror
image
also
appears
in
another
work
associated
with
the
Medici:

Heinrich
Isaac,
a
noted
musical
presence
in
Florence
and
an
artist
embedded

in
the
intimate
Medici
circles,
composed
a
curious
work,
Palle,
palle,
which

features
which
features
an
ostinato
that
Allan
Atlas
has
linked
to
the
Medici

coat-‐of-‐arms.
50

In
addition
to
the
use
of
the
ostinato
–
a
musical
symbolic

device
already
associated
with
Fortuna
-‐
Isaac
employs
another
popular

symbolic
device:
gematria.
51

Atlas
believes
Isaac’s
use
of
symbolism
(numeric

and
otherwise)
to
be
relatively
primitive
in
comparison
to
the
symbolism

employed
by
other
“Franco-‐Netherlander”
composers
such
as
Obrecht.
52

However,
the
simplicity
of
the
symbolism
–
the
recurring
mirror-‐image

ostinato
–
could
be
deceiving
if
one
re-‐interpreted
the
ostinato
as
being
both

a
representation
of
the
Medici
coat-‐of-‐arms
and
a
nod
to
the
Fortuna

desperata
song
(if
it
was
well-‐established
as
a
musical
tribute
to
the
Medici

family).
If
the
Fortuna
desperata
text
was
written
as
a
tribute
to
a
woman

whose
death
deeply
affected
the
Medici
family,
it
is
not
much
of
a
stretch
to

50

Allan
Atlas,
“Heinrich
Isaac’s
Palle,
Palle:
A
New
Interpretation,”
Studien
zur
italienisch-
deutschen
Musikgeschichte
9,
Analecta
Musicologica,
14
(1974):
17-‐25.

51

The
symbolic
musical
devices
used
to
represent
Fortuna,
the
ostinato
being
one
example,

will
be
examined
in
greater
detail,
with
musical
examples,
later
in
this
chapter.

52

Atlas,
“Palle,
Palle,”
25.

63

consider
that
a
composer
would
insert
a
tribute
to
the
Medici
within
the

original
musical
setting
of
Fortuna
desperata
as
well.

Not
only
was
Isaac
highly
respected
by
the
Medici,
he
was
also
the

composer
of
no
less
than
three
Fortuna
desperata
settings
and
possibly

inspired
what
Cumming
dubbed
the
“Fortuna
in
mi”
phenomenon.
53

Martin

Picker
even
goes
to
far
as
to
suggest
Isaac’s
combinative
setting,

Sanctus/Fortuna,
was
actually
a
movement
from
a
lost
or
unattributed

Fortuna
desperata
mass.
54

This
recurrent
link
between
Fortuna
desperata

and
the
Medici
continues
through
the
late
fifteenth
century
well
into
the

sixteenth
century.
“After
the
re-‐establishment
of
the
Medici
in
Florence,
a

medal
was
struck
to
commemorate
the
event.
The
medal
is
inscribed:
Virtute

Duce
–
Comite
Fortuna
(‘Virtue
led
and
Fortune
followed’).
.
.
.
This
time

Fortune
is
accompanied
by
the
friendly
symbols
of
the
cornucopia
and

rudder
as
well
as
by
the
forelock,
symbol
of
chance
(occasio),
which
the
alert

man
must
always
be
ready
to
grasp.”
55

The
motto
includes
not
only
the

medieval
remedy
for
fortune
(virtue)
but
also
the
Machiavellian
notion
of

53

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
7-‐23.
Meconi
feels
strongly
that
Isaac
initiated
the
modal

shift
from
fa
to
mi.

54

Martin
Picker,
“Henricus
Isaac
and
Fortuna
desperata,”
in
Antoine
Busnoys:
Method,

Meaning,
and
Context
in
Late
Medieval
Music,
ed.
Paula
Higgins
(Oxford:
Clarendon
Press,

1999),
440.

55

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna,”
69,
footnote
35.

64

opportunity,
reflecting
the
inevitable
evolution
of
the
relationship
between

Fortune
and
the
Medici.

The
song
remains
surprisingly
homophonic
through
measure
16
at

which
point
the
first
imitative
gesture
appears
between
the
superius
and
the

tenor
(in
measure
21).
As
soon
as
the
imitation
is
concluded,
the
three
voices

join
together
again
as
a
homophonic
trio
(measures
26-‐35)
with
one

dovetailed
cadence
in
measure
31.
Indeed,
the
recurrent
rhythmic

homophony
serves
to
highlight
a
potential
text
underlay
–
potential
because

only
the
upper
two
voices
contained
the
notated
text.
However,
because
of

the
homophony
shared
between
the
three
voices,
it
seems
safe
to
assume

that
the
bassus
would
follow
roughly
the
same
underlay
(except
for
the

measures
during
which
its
rhythm
is
entirely
independent
in
which
case
one

must
assume
the
rules
of
Renaissance
text
underlay
apply).
56

The

contratenor
bassus,
while
perfectly
complimentary,
is
the
least
borrowed

voice
and
is
often
rewritten
or
replaced
in
other
Fortuna
settings.

Also
unique
is
the
long-‐note
value
employed
throughout
the
setting

with
only
a
handful
of
decorative
rhythms
strewn
among
the
voices.
It
is
also

necessary
to
point
out
the
use
of
musica
ficta.
Only
twice
does
a
note
that

56

This
is
an
important
feature
to
consider
given
the
questions
that
arise
with
other

“untexted”
Renaissance
works.
Because
Fortuna
desperata
presents
a
more
obvious

relationship
between
rhythm
and
text
underlay,
one
can
“fill
in
the
blanks”
and
present
a

cohesive
performance
of
Fortuna
desperata
without
needing
significant
research.

65

occurs
outside
of
the
natural,
soft
and
hard
hexachords
in
measures
27
and

35.
It
is
also
significant
to
note
that
the
hard
hexachord
never
makes
an

appearance.
57

The
tenor
line
is
staunchly
Lydian
while
the
superius
and
bassus
are

more
closely
associated
with
the
Hypolydian.
The
symmetry
of
surrounding
a

Lydian
tenor
with
Hypolydian
accompaniments
is
simultaneously

innocuously
normal
and
potentially
symbolic.
Bartolomeo
Ramos
de
Parajea,

a
contemporary
Renaissance
music
theorist,
defined
the
modes
related
to

Lydian
and
Hypolydian
as
being
connected
to
Fortuna.
In
his
treatise,
Musica

practica,
written
in
1482,
he
concludes:

Hypolydius
vero
ipsi
Veneriest
attributus,
quae
fortuna

est,
femninea,
tamen,
quia
provocat
ad
pias
quandoque.

Lydius
vero
Jovi,
fortunae
majori,
qui
hominess

sanguineos
et
benevolos
creat
mitesque
atque
jocundos,

recte
comparatur,
cum
semper
gaudiumnotet.

The
Hypolydian
is
attributed
to
Venus,
who
is
Fortuna
–

the
female,
however,
as
it
[the
mode]
sometimes
elicits

pious
tears.
But
the
Lydian
is
rightfully
compared
to

Jupiter,
the
stronger
Fortuna,
because
it
makes

sanguine
and
benevolent
men
mild
and
gay,
as
it
always

has
the
connotation
of
joy.
58

57

For
a
more
comprehensive
presentation
and
chart
comparing
the
musica
ficta
of
various

manuscripts,
see
Meconi,
Thirty-Six
Settings,
xix-‐xxi.

58

Bartolomeo
Ramos
de
Parajea,
Musica
practica,
text
and
trans.
from
Edward
Lowinsky,

“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
72.

66

The
use
of
both
Lydian
and
Hypolydian
produces
what
Lowinsky
calls

“tonus
mixtus.”
59

If
the
tenor
line
recalls
the
stoicism
and
benevolence
of

Good
Fortune,
the
superius
reminds
listeners
of
the
sad
fate
Fortune

bestowed
upon
the
“distinguished
lady.”
Musical
symbolism
aside,
“little
is

demanded
of
the
listener
except
sheer
enjoyment;
there
are
no
complex

rhythms
or
polyphonic
intricacies
to
follow,
and
the
appeal
is
direct.”
60

Combinative
Settings
and
Re-workings

Fortuna
desperata
inspired
no
less
than
thirty-‐six
settings
that
fall
into

the
categories
of
combinative
art-‐song
re-‐workings
established
by
Honey

Meconi.
61

It
also
serves
as
the
cantus
firmus
for
six
Missae
Fortuna

desperata.
62

Musicologist
Honey
Meconi
has
compiled
thirty-‐six
extant

Fortuna
desperata
settings
(in
addition
to
the
original
three-‐voice
song),

dividing
them
into
six
distinct
categories:
five
si
placet
settings,
two

replacement
contratenor
settings,
six
settings
using
the
superius,
thirteen

settings
using
the
tenor,
six
settings
using
the
tenor
in
mi,
and
three

59

Ibid.,
72.

60

Meconi,
Thirty-Six
Settings,
xv.

61

Honey
Meconi,
“Art-‐Song
Reworkings:
An
Overview,”
Journal
of
the
Royal
Musical

Association
119,
no.
1
(1994):
1-‐42.

62

The
mass
settings
have
been
attributed
to
Obrecht,
Josquin,
Appenzeller
and
Periquin.

Two
settings
are
anonymous.
See
page
72
for
more
information
on
the
mass
settings.

67

incomplete
settings
(voices
missing).
63

Julie
Cumming
divides
the
Fortuna

settings
into
two
simpler
categories:
combinative
settings
–
those
settings
in

which
the
Fortuna
cantus
firmus
is
combined
with
another
cantus
firmus;

and
emblematic
settings
–
those
settings
which
combine
the
Fortuna

desperata
cantus
firmus
with
another
text.
64

Cumming
was
much
more

concerned
with
the
symbolism
inherent
in
the
Fortuna
settings
while
Meconi

focused
on
the
myriad
compositional
techniques.

Table
2.2:
List
of
Fortuna
desperata
settings
65

FD1
Fortuna
desperata
(a
3)
Anonymous
Original
version

FD2
Fortuna
desperata
(a
4)
Anonymous
Si
placet
altus

FD3
Fortuna
desperata
(a
4)
Anonymous
Si
placet
altus

FD4
Fortuna
desperata/Poi

che
t’hebi
nel
core
(a
4)

Anonymous
Si
placet
altus

FD5
Fortuna
esperee
(a
4)
Anonymous
Si
placet
altus

FD6
Fortuna
desperata
(a
6)
Alexander

Agricola

Three
si
placet
voices

FD7
Fortuna
desperata
(a
3)
Sir
Felice?
Replacement

contratenor

FD8
Fortuna
disperata
(a
3)
Josquin
des

Prez?

Replacement

contratenor

FD9
Fortuna
disperata
(a
3)
Johannes

Martini

Superius
as
cantus

firmus

FD10
Fortuna

disperata/Sancte

Petre/Ora
pro
nobis
(a

5)

Heinrich
Isaac?
Superius
as
cantus

firmus

63

Meconi,
Thirty-Six
Settings,
ix.

64

Julie
Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
14.

65

These
designations,
FD1-‐FD36,
are
taken
directly
from
Honey
Meconi’s
Thirty-Six
Settings

of
an
Italian
Song.

68

FD11
Fortuna/Bruder
Conrat

(a
4)

Heinrich
Isaac
Superius
as
cantus

firmus

FD12
Fortuna
disperata
(a
4)
Anonymous
Superius
as
cantus

firmus

FD13
Fortuna
disperata

zibaldone
(a
4)

Anonymous
Superius
as
cantus

firmus

FD14
Fortuna
desperata
(a
4)
Jean
Pinarol
Superius
as
cantus

firmus

FD15
Fortuna
desperata
(a
3)
Heinrich
Isaac
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD16
Sanctus
(a
4)
Heinrich
Isaac
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD17
Fortuna
desperata
(a
4)
Anonymous
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD18
Esurientes
implevit
bonis

(a
4)

Anonymous
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD19
O
crux
ave/Fortuna
(a
5)
anonymous
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD20
Ich
stund
an
einem

Morgen/Fortuna
(a
5)

Ludwig
Senfl
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD21
Es
taget
vor
dem

Walde/Fortuna
(a
5)

Ludwig
Senfl
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD22
Herr
durch
dein
Blut

(Pange
Lingua)/Fortuna

(a
5)

Ludwig
Senfl
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD23
Virgo

prudentissima/Fortuna

(a
5)

Ludwig
Senfl
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD24
Helena
desiderio

plena/Fortuna
(a
5)

Ludwig
Senfl
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD25
Nasci,
pati,

mori/Fortuna
(a
5)

Ludwig
Senfl
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD26
Fortuna
ad
voces

musicales
(a
4)

Ludwig
Senfl
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD27
Passibus
ambiguis
(a
4)
Matthias
Greiter
Tenor
as
cantus
firmus

FD28
Fortuna
desperata
(a
3)
Heinrich
Isaac
Tenor
in
mi

FD29
Fortuna
desperata
(a
4)
anonymous
Tenor
in
mi

FD30
Ave
mater
matris

Dei/Fortuna
disperata
(a

5)

Jacquet
of

Mantua

Tenor
in
mi

FD31
Consideres
mes

incessantes

plaintes/Fortuna
(a
5)

Anonymous
Tenor
in
mi

FD32
Anima
mea
liquefacta
Cabilliau
Tenor
in
mi

69

est/Amica
mea
(a
5)

FD33
Fortuna
Wilhelm

Breitengraser

Tenor
in
mi

FD34
Fortuna
desperata
quae

te
dementia
coepit
(a
3)

Anonymous
Voices
missing

FD35
Fortuna
(a
4)
Anonymous
Voices
missing

FD36
Fortuna
desperata
quae

te
dementia
vertit

Robertus
Fabri
Voices
missing

Adding
a
si
placet
voice
was
one
of
the
least
invasive
techniques
of

adaptation
made
to
the
original.
As
many
as
three
new
voices
were
added,
as

in
Agricola’s
triple
si
placet
setting.
66

Composers
also
experimented
with

using
the
superius
and
tenor
as
cantus
firmi.
Julie
Cumming
presented
the

first
comprehensive
study
of
the
phenomenon
she
called
“Fortuna
in
mi,”
a

technique
she
coined
to
describe
the
modal
shift
from
Lydian
to
Phrygian

used
by
several
of
the
Fortuna
desperata
composers.

67

It
was
rare
for
a

composer
to
change
the
mode
of
an
adopted
cantus
firmus
so
Cumming

concluded
that
there
must
be
some
symbolic
significance
attached
to
the

technique.
Cumming
posits
that
by
shifting
the
mode
to
mi,
the
mode

associated
with
Mercury
and
Mars,
Fortuna
has
gone
from
representing

“Jupiter,
the
highest
of
the
gods
.
.
.
and
of
Venus,
the
goddess
of
love
.
.
.
to
the

66

The
only
other
documented
examples
of
a
triple
si
placet
setting
are
John
Dunstable’s

setting
of
O
rosa
bella
and
Ludwig
Senfl’s
Was
Wird
es
Doch.
Thank
you
to
Adam
Gilbert
for

pointing
out
Senfl’s
triple
si
placet
setting.

67

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
7.

70

mode
of
changeable
and
debasing
Mercury
and
wrathful,
destructive
Mars.”
68

This
is
not
the
first
time
Fortuna
has
been
associated
with
Mercury:
Alciati’s

emblem
clearly
shows
Fortuna
consorting
with
the
messenger
god.
The
most

common
technique
of
transforming
the
song
and
adding
to
the
Fortuna

desperata
tradition
was
the
combinative
setting.
This
was
not
unique
to

Fortuna
desperata
but
because
of
the
unusual
iconography
and
history

associated
with
the
Goddess,
it
presents
interesting
opportunities
for
implied

symbolism.
69

Regardless
of
the
system
of
organizing
the
settings,
a
quick
overview

reveals
a
curious
statistic:
teacher,
Heinrich
Isaac,
and
his
pupil,
Ludwig

Senfl,
are
responsible
for
no
less
than
eleven
of
the
thirty-‐six
settings.
Most
of

these
borrowings
indicate
that
composers
completed
one
Fortuna
reworking

and
then
moved
on.
Not
so
with
Isaac
and
Senfl.
Isaac
experimented
with
a

range
of
borrowing
techniques:
settings
using
the
superius,
settings
using
the

tenor,
and
settings
using
the
tenor
in
mi.
Isaac’s
continued
interest
in

reinventing
musical
expressions
of
Fortuna
desperata
supports
Meconi’s

theory
that
“these
works
result
from
the
conscious
decision
by
a
number
of

composers
to
write
numerous
pieces
based
on
the
same
model.”
70

It
also

68

Ibid.,
11.

69

Chapter
4
focuses
exclusively
on
the
combinative
settings
and
contrafact
texts
and
the

ways
in
which
the
added
texts
contribute
to
and
transform
the
Fortuna
tradition.

70

Meconi,
“Reworkings,”
23.

71

demonstrates
the
prevalence
of
two
types
of
imitatio
established
by
Howard

Mayer
Brown:
the
urge
to
pay
tribute
to
another
composer
or
mentor
and
the

drive
to
“outclass”
other
attempts
at
setting
a
melody
or
song.
“Seven
or
eight

works
by
Isaac’s
pupil
Ludwig
Senfl
appear
to
have
as
their
goal
the

surpassing
of
Isaac’s
multiple
settings.”
71

Senfl,
however,
always
used
the

tenor
as
his
cantus
firmus,
choosing
instead
to
transform
the
song
through

combinative
settings
and
textual
allusions.
Other
composers
who
tried
their

hand
at
using
the
Fortuna
desperata
song
include
Alexander
Agricola,

Johannes
Martini,
Jean
Pinarol,
Jacquet
of
Mantua,
Cabilliau,
Wilhelm

Breitengraser,
and
Robertus
Fabri.

There
are
an
overwhelming
number
of
anonymous
settings
and

several
settings
with
questionable
authorship.
72

Meconi
suggests
Josquin
de

Prez
as
the
composer
of
one
of
the
replacement
contratenor
settings
(FD8)

and
Isaac
as
the
composer
of
a
setting
using
the
superius
(FD10)–
in
addition

to
his
other
setting
using
the
superius.
Neither
of
these
are
outrageous

attributions
given
both
composers’
proven
relationship
with
Fortuna

desperata.
Josquin
composed
a
Missa
Fortuna
desperata
and
a
setting
of

Fortuna
dun
gran
tempo,
another
popular
tune
connected
to
the
Goddess

71

Picker,
“Henricus
Isaac,”
440.

72

Meconi,
Thirty-Six
Settings,
157-‐188.

72

Fortuna.
73

Isaac’s
role
in
perpetuating
the
popularity
of
Fortuna
desperata
is

undeniable.
Martin
Picker
credits
Isaac
for
bringing
the
Fortuna
desperata

tradition
to
Germanic
lands,
and,
of
course,
inspiring
his
student
Senfl
to

make
his
major
contribution
to
the
oeuvre.
74

Table
2.3
is
a
chronological
list
of
Fortuna
desperata
settings
based
on

the
research
gathered
by
Honey
Meconi.
Meconi’s
method
of
organizing
the

settings
is
based
on
the
type
of
setting
(si
placet,
use
of
tenor
as
cantus

firmus,
etc.)
but
an
organized
timeline
–
albeit
a
rough
one
–
provides
us
with

a
different
perspective
on
the
relationship
between
historical
events
and

Fortuna
desperata
trends.
Although
it
is
difficult
to
date
the
works,
the
list

below
is
a
rough
attempt
at
organizing
the
settings
chronologically
based
on

manuscripts,
composer
activities,
and
historical
events.
The
anonymous

works
are
included
very
loosely
since
they
are
significantly
harder
to
date

given
the
lack
of
a
reference
points
(death,
travel
records,
etc.).

Table
2.3:
A
Chronological
Timeline
of
Fortuna
desperata
settings

1477

FD1
Busnoys?,
FD2
anonymous

1478

FD7
Felice?

73

Fortuna
dun
gran
tempo,
like
Fortuna
desperata,
inspired
a
crop
of
compositions
using
the

tune
as
a
cantus
firmus.
This
will
be
considered
later
in
the
study
as
a
means
of
establishing

the
universal
application
of
Fortuna
symbolism
in
contemporary
music.

74

Picker,
“Henricus
Isaac,”
437.

73

Table
2.3
cont.

1479-‐81

FD9
Johannes
Martini

1490

FD3
anonymous

1491

FD6
Alexander
Agricola

1494

FD15
Heinrich
Isaac

1497

FD
16
Isaac?

FD10
Isaac

FD8
Josquin?

1500

FD4
anonymous

1502

FD12
anonymous

1504

FD14
Jean
Pinarol

1510-‐20?

FD5
anonymous

FD36
Robertus
Fabri

FD17
anonymous

FD29
anonymous

1515

FD
28
Isaac

FD19

1516

FD
11
Isaac

FD18
anonymous

1518
FD30
Jaquet
of
Mantua

1519

FD13
anonymous

1523
FD31
anonymous

1527

FD35

1533

FD24
Senfl

FD20
Senfl

FD25
Senfl

74

Table
2.3
cont.

1533

FD23
Senfl

1534

FD33
Wilhelm
Breitengraser

FD21
Senfl

FD26
Senfl

FD22
Senfl

1540

FD34
anonymous

1550

FD27
Matthias
Greiter

1554

FD32
Cabilliau

Isaac’s
flurry
of
Fortuna
compositions
potentially
correspond
with

pivotal
moments
for
the
Medici
in
Florence.
Lorenzo
de
Medici,
the

powerhouse
of
the
family,
died
in
1492,
and
the
family
was
expelled
from

Florence
in
1494.
The
Medici
returned
to
power
in
Florence
in
1512,
and

Pope
Leo
elected
in
1513
and
Isaac
experiences
another
spate
of
Fortuna

settings.
Most
of
our
chronological
information
is
based
on
manuscript
dates,

not
necessarily
compositional
dates,
so
these
historical
events
may
or
may

not
have
affected
Isaac’s
output.
However,
there
is
certainly
a
link
between

the
Medici
and
Isaac,
a
central
figure
in
the
Fortuna
desperata
tradition.

Senfl’s
Fortuna
desperata
settings
are
concentrated
in
a
very
small

window
of
time,
1533-‐1534.
Senfl
had
always
demonstrated
respect
for
his

elder
composers,
as
indicated
by
his
carefully
compiled
Liber
selectarum

cantionum
of
1520
in
which
he
collected
works
by
Josquin
des
Prez,
Obrecht,

75

Mouton,
Pierre
de
la
Rue,
and,
of
course,
Isaac.
75

Although
it
seems

irrefutable
that
Senfl
became
familiar
with
Fortuna
desperata
early
on
in
his

musical
career
given
his
close
associations
with
Isaac,
it
does
not
survive
in

sources
until
almost
ten
years
after
his
Liber
selectarum
cantionum
and
more

than
thirteen
years
after
the
death
of
his
mentor.
One
can
only
guess
at
the

reason
for
Senfl’s
renewed
interest
in
Fortuna
desperata
but
his
contribution

to
the
Fortuna
desperata
tradition
was
certainly
significant.

Unlike
his
mentor,
Isaac,
who
dabbled
with
multiple
types
of
Fortuna

desperata
settings,
Senfl
only
writes
Fortuna
settings
using
the
tenor
with

combinative
texts.
The
significance
of
combined
texts
is
a
field
rich
with

symbolism
and
is
found
throughout
compositions
of
this
time.
76

Senfl
himself

was
known
to
be
“a
first-‐class
poet
as
well
as
a
gifted
composer”
77

and
so
one

can
assume
that
he
would
not
take
the
act
of
combining
texts
lightly
and

without
meaningful
intent.

75

For
more
information
on
this
compilation,
see
Stephanie
P.
Schlagel,
“The
Liber
selectarum

cantionum
and
the
‘German
Josquin
Renaissance,’”
The
Journal
of
Musicology
19,
no.
4
(Fall

2002):
564-‐615.

76

The
layers
of
symbolism
attached
to
combinative
texts
demands
its
own
study
and
will
be

addressed
in
the
Chapter
4.

77

Kenneth
Creighton
Roberts,
Jr.,
The
Music
of
Ludwig
Senfl:
A
Critical
Appraisal.
[with]

Volume
II:
Appendix
D.
[including
a
complete
transcription]
The
Liber
Selectarum
Cantionum

of
1520
(Ph.D.
diss.,
The
University
of
Michigan,
1965),
22.

76

The
Mass
Settings

In
addition
to
the
song
re-‐workings,
one
must
also
consider
the
mass

settings
inspired
by
the
song
Fortuna
desperata.
Picker
acknowledges
four:

one
by
Josquin,
one
by
Obrecht,
one
by
Periquin
and
the
final
being
an

anonymous
setting.
78

Meconi
cites
an
additional
anonymous
mass
setting
and

a
smaller
mass
setting
by
Appenzeller,
bringing
the
final
tally
to
six
masses.
79

Although
the
rough
estimate
comes
to
five,
it
is
the
masses
by
Obrecht
and

Josquin
that
have
accumulated
the
most
scholarship
and
attention.
80

Obrecht
.
.
.
uses
the
original
tenor
as
a
cantus
firmus,

and
Josquin
.
.
.
employs
all
three
voices
as
individual

cantus
firmi
and
as
a
polyphonic
unit,
anticipating
the

development
of
the
full-‐blown
‘imitation’
or
‘parody’

mass.
81

The
main
debate
centers
on
the
chronology
of
the
works.
Did
Obrecht

write
his
mass
first
after
which
Josquin
tried
his
hand
at
besting
another

master?

Or
was
Josquin
the
first
to
use
the
song
in
its
entirety
as
the
basis
for

a
mass?

Musicologists
Otto
Gombosi
and
Barton
Hudson
believed
Obrecht’s

78

Picker,
“Henricus
Isaac,”
435.

79

Meconi,
Thirty-Six
Settings,
ix.

80

Isaac
wrote
a
Sanctus
using
the
Fortuna
desperata
tenor
as
cantus
firmus
and
some

scholars,
including
Adam
Gilbert,
believe
the
work
was
part
of
a
larger
mass
setting.

81

Picker,
“Henricus
Isaac,”
435.

77

Missa
Fortuna
desperata
to
be
a
derivative
of
Josquin’s
setting.
82

Rob

Wegman,
however,
presents
a
compelling
argument
against
this
model,

instead
positing
that
Obrecht’s
mass
predates
that
of
Josquin.
83

Staines
notes

that
“the
first
seven
bars
of
Obrecht’s
‘Osanna’
correspond
almost
exactly
to

the
identical
bars
of
the
Agnus
Dei
II
in
Josquin’s
mass.”
84

It
is
precisely
these

similarities
that
exacerbate
the
dating
issue;
someone
was
quoting
the
other,

but
arguments
rage
regarding
which
mass
came
first.
Both
Josquin
and

Obrecht
were
highly
respected
Franco-‐Flemish
composers
and
near-‐
contemporaries
who
spent
time
in
Italy
(Josquin
more
so
than
Obrecht)
so

their
adoption
of
Fortuna
desperata
as
an
inspirational
work
provides
insight

on
its
geographical
influence.
Musicologists
also
agree
that
the
two
masses

are
good
examples
of
the
transition
from
the
single-‐lined
cantus
firmus
mass

to
the
parody
mass
based
on
polyphonic
compositions
that
took
place
in
the

beginning
of
the
sixteenth
century.

Richard
Staines
dates
Obrecht’s
mass
setting
at
the
later
part
of
his

career.
“Obrecht’s
Missa
Fortuna
desperata
stands
high
amongst
his
output,

one
of
the
first
masses
to
be
written
in
his
mature
style,
and
it
is
likely
to

82

See
Otto
Gombosi,
Jacob
Obrecht:
Eine
stilkritische
Studie
(Leipzig,
1925),
and
Barton

Hudson,
“Two
Ferrarese
Masses
by
Jacob
Obrecht,”
Journal
of
Musicology
4,
no.
3
(Summer

1985
–
Summer
1986):
276-‐302.

83

Rob
C.
Wegman,
Born
for
the
Muses:
the
life
and
Masses
of
Jacob
Obrecht
(Oxford:

Clarendon
Press),
1996.

84

Richard
Staines,
“Obrecht
at
500:
Style
and
Structure
in
the
Missa
Fortuna
desperata,”
The

Musical
Times
146,
no.
1891
(Summer
2005):
20.

78

have
originated
during,
or
very
shortly
after,
this
first
visit
to
the
south.”
85

Barton
Hudson
concurs,
dating
both
the
Missa
Fortuna
desperata
and
another

cantus
firmus
mass,
Missa
Malheur
me
bat,
during
his
“first
sojourn
to

Ferrara.”
86

Using
dated
paper-‐types,
Wegman
convincingly
dates
Obrecht’s

mass
to
1491-‐1493.
87

Both
Wegman
and
Staines
agree
that
the
mass

demonstrates
Obrecht’s
advanced
skill
as
a
composer.
Wegman’s
detailed

analysis
reveals
a
layered
repetition
in
the
opening
Kyrie
–
a
technique
that

echoes
the
relentless
nature
of
Fortuna’s
spinning
wheel
–
and
new

treatment
of
cadences.
“Obrecht
is
able
to
generate
such
an
extraordinary

sense
of
motion
that
he
needs
extra-‐strong
means
of
articulation
to
control
it.

And
since
it
is
mainly
by
lengthening
progressions…his
sense
of
musical

proportion
and
symmetry
is
profoundly
influenced
as
a
result.”
88

In
his
study

of
the
use
of
inversion
and
retrograde-‐inversion
in
Obrecht’s
masses,
Larry

Todd
notes
the
influence
of
the
palindrome
in
the
structure
of
the
Missa

Fortuna
desperata.
89

This
is
most
certainly
derived
from
the
opening
phrase

of
the
tenor
line
in
the
original
song.
Obrecht
expands
upon
this
phrase
in
the

Kyrie,
using
the
symmetrical
excerpt
as
a
fragment
in
the
opening
measures

85

Staines,
“Obrecht
at
500,”
19.

86

Hudson,
“Two
Ferrarese
Masses,”
277.

87

Wegman,
Born
for
the
Muses,
220,
see
footnote
1
for
details.

88

Wegman,
Born
for
the
Muses,
224.
See
pages
221-‐233
for
a
detailed
analysis
of
Obrecht’s

Missa
Fortuna
desperata.
See
also
Staines,
“Obrecht
at
500,”
28-‐42.

89

R.
Larry
Todd,
“Retrograde,
Inversion,
Retrograde-‐Inversion,
and
Related
Techniques
to

the
Masses
of
Jacobus
Obrecht.”
The
Musical
Quarterly
64,
no.
1
(Jan.
1978):
50-‐78.

79

of
each
voice
until
the
full
statement
of
the
cantus
firmus
appears
in
measure

13.
The
deceptive
air
established
by
Obrecht’s
manipulation
of
the
cantus

firmus
illustrates
Wegman’s
point
regarding
lengthened
progressions
and

symbolically
mimics
Fortuna’s
instability;
her
wheel
is
present
and
circling

from
the
very
first
notes
of
the
mass.
Staines
continues
with
this
analysis,

suggesting
that
Obrecht
is
also
manipulating
the
tonal
center,
F.
“The

deployment
of
a
chain
of
energetic
pulls
toward
the
tonal
norm
[F]
enables

the
listening
ear
not
only
to
be
temporally
conveyed
forward
from
point
to

point,
but
to
be
simultaneously
redirected,
in
any
moment
to
the
immediate

past.”
90

The
manipulation
of
a
tonal
center
is
a
technique
Josquin
used
–
on
a

much
greater
scale
–
in
his
setting
of
Fortuna
dun
gran
tempo,
another
work

dedicated
to
the
goddess.
91

Staines
goes
even
further
than
Todd,
laying
out
a
complete

symmetrical
structure
linking
the
Gloria
and
the
Credo;
together
they
are

mirror
images
of
each
other.
“What
is
striking
about
the
Fortuna
ordering
is

Obrecht’s
venturesomeness
in
formally
integrating
into
its
total
design

90

Staines,
“Obrecht
at
500,”
37.

91

Josquin
composed
Fortuna
dun
gran
tempo
as
a
setting
for
three
voices
based
on
a
good

luck
song
about
the
Goddess.
Japart
also
used
the
song
as
a
cantus
firmus
for
a
setting.
In

Josquin’s
Fortuna
dun
gran
tempo,
he
makes
unusual
use
of
three
different
key
signatures
for

each
part,
setting
up
a
puzzle
piece
that
has
baffled
musicologists
over
the
centuries.
See

Edward
Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
45-‐77,
and
Jaap
van
Bentham,
“Fortuna

in
Focus:
Concerning
‘Conflicting’
Progressions
in
Josquin’s
‘Fortuna
dun
gran
tempo,’”

Tijdschrift
van
de
Vereniging
voor
Nederlandse
Muziekgeschiedenis
30,
no.
1
(1980):
1-‐50.

80

several
other
palindromes
that
exist
on
different
architectonic
levels.”
92

If

one
accepts
the
theory
that
the
opening
palindrome
in
the
original
tenor
line

(from
the
original
song)
is
a
nod
to
the
Medici
and
their
coat
of
arms,

Obrecht’s
continued
play
on
this
structural
element
begs
a
connection
to
the

Florentine
family.

Again,
Wegman
and
Staines
are
in
agreement
that
Obrecht’s
Missa

Fortuna
desperata
showcases
a
very
deliberate
and
vigorous
treatment
of
the

original
song,
building
momentum
through
rhythmic
punctuation
and

extended
phrases.
Staines
eloquently
describes
the
mass
from
a

musicological
standpoint:

Janus-‐like,
Fortuna
desperata
looks
in
two
directions:

whilst
crystallizing
the
earlier
style
of
his
previous

masses
with
their
undoubted
indebtedness
to
both

Busnois
and
Ockeghem,
the
incisiveness
and
novelty
of

its
conception
and
dramatic
sweep
represent
its
other

face;
through
the
forthright
unaffectedness
of
its

harmonic
idiom
and
almost
classical
awareness
of

symmetry,
the
work
points
tantalizingly
forward
to

subsequent
developments
that
were
to
appear
within

the
emerging
narrative
of
European
diatonicism.
93

While
Obrecht
concentrated
on
the
technique
of
retrograte
in
his

Missa
Fortuna
desperata,
Josquin
chose
to
highlight
the
technique
of

inversion.
Edgar
Sparks
and
Jennifer
Bloxom
find
the
technique
of
ostinato
to

92

Staines,
“Obrecht
at
500,”
30.

93

Ibid.,
22.

81

be
particularly
relevant
to
the
composition
of
the
mass.
“The
device
of

ostinato
is
used
most
effectively
in
Agnus
Dei
I,
in
which
the
deliberate
spin

of
the
melodic
repetitions
over
the
long-‐held
tones
of
the
bass
cantus
firmus

conjure
up
mesmerizing
rotations
of
Fortune’s
wheel.”
94

He
also
notes
the

impact
of
rhythmic
and
phrasal
speed
but
it
is
Bloxom
who
presents
the

more
elegant
explanation
involving
Josquin’s
compositional
treatment
of
the

cantus
firmus.
She
reveals
Josquin’s
larger
technique
of
“mensurally

control[ling
the
cantus
firmus]
to
achieve
diminution
over
the
course
of
each

movement.”
95

After
the
Kyrie,
“the
three
subsequent
movements
feature

repetitions
of
the
entire
cantus
firmus
in
progressive
diminution
effected
by

a
combination
of
mensuration
signs
and
written
cannons.”
96

Bloxom
notes

the
likelihood
that
Josquin
was
employing
this
kind
of
mensuration

manipulation
as
a
symbolic
representation
of
Fortune’s
wheel
“propelling
the

fate
of
humankind.”
97

She
also
suggests
that
the
climactic
arrival
in
the
Agnus

I
symbolizes
a
possible
reversal
of
Fortune’s
wheel.
98

Despite
Josquin’s

deliberate
structural
manipulation
of
the
cantus
firmus,
he
reinstates
the

tenor
in
integer
valor
in
the
final
Agnus
Dei.
Josquin’s
use
of
a
large-‐scale

94

M.
Jennifer
Bloxom,
“Masses
on
Polyphonic
Songs,”
in
The
Josquin
Companion,
ed.
Richard

Sherr,
(Oxford:
Oxford
University
Press,
2000),
168;
and
see
also
Edgar
H.
Sparks,
Cantus

Firmus
in
Mass
and
Motet
1420-1520
(Berkeley
and
Los
Angeles,
CA:
University
of
California

Press,
1963).

95

Ibid.,
167.

96

Ibid.

97

Ibid.

98

Ibid.

82

compositional
technique
certainly
begs
a
symbolic
interpretation
–
this
was

not
the
first
composition
to
utilize
such
grandiose
architectural
scheme
as
an

extra-‐musical
representation.
99

The
mass
appears
in
two
manuscripts,
one
from
Rome
and
one
from

Ferrara
and
was
published
in
Petrucci’s
Misse
Josquin
of
1502,
a
collection
of

five
masses
by
Josquin
including
the
Missa
l’homme
armé
super
voces

musicales,
the
Missa
l’homme
armé
sexti
toni,
both
based
on
the
hit
parade

song,
L’homme
armé.

100

The
decision
to
include
the
Missa
Fortuna
desperata

in
this
collection
is
significant
given
that
the
purpose
of
publication
was
to

distribute
works
by
the
master
in
the
form
of
partbooks.
Josquin
uses
all

three
voices
from
the
original
song
as
“long-‐note
cantus
firmi
.
.
.
what
is

more,
every
voice
of
the
mass
presents
the
cantus
firmus
at
some
point.”
101

Both
masses
were
written
early
in
the
lifespan
of
Fortuna
desperata.
Its
use

99

In
his
Miserere
Dei,
Meus,
Josquin
outlines
the
hexachord
by
shifting
a
recurring,
two-‐note

phrase
up
and
down
throughout
the
motet
so
that
it
functions
along
the
lines
of
a
litany.

Musicologists
believe
it
to
be
a
tribute
to
Savonarola’s
last
meditations.
He
also
spells
out
his

own
name
in
an
acrostic
in
the
motet
Illibata
Dei
virgo
nutrix
and
also
uses
a
three-‐note

ostinato

“sung
in
the
tenor
to
the
solmization
of
the
word
‘Maria.’”
See
“Josquin
des
Prez:

Motets,”
Oxford
Music
Online.
Edward
Lowinsky’s
article
on
Josquin’s
Fortuna
dun
gran

tempo
demonstrates
the
composer’s
interest
in
the
symbolic
potential
of
compositional

techniques
related
to
the
Goddess
Fortuna.
See
Edward
Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in

Music
with
a
special
study
of
Josquin’s
Fortuna
dun
gran
tempo,”
The
Musical
Quarterly
29,

no.
1
(Jan
1943):
45-‐77.

100

Bonnie
J.
Blackburn,
“Masses
Based
on
Popular
Songs
and
Solmization
Syllables,”
in
The

Josquin
Companion,
ed.
Richard
Sherr
(Oxford:
Oxford
University
Press,
2000):
51.
Obrecht

also
wrote
a
Missa
l’homme
armé,
preserving
its
original
Phrygian
mode,
while
Josquin

changed
the
mode
to
Lydian.
Other
composers
using
the
l’homme
armé
tune
had

experimented
with
changing
modes
but
Josquin
was
the
first
to
try
it
in
Jupiter’s
mode.

101

Bloxom,
“Masses,”
166.

83

as
a
cantus
firmus
in
mass
settings
seemed
to
lose
its
appeal
as
more

composers
sought
to
transform
the
song
in
other
ways.
In
his
book,
Born
for

the
Muses:
the
life
and
Masses
of
Jacob
Obrecht,
Rob
Wegman
identifies
an

important
period
in
the
development
of
the
cyclic
mass.
Calling
it
the
“so-‐
called
Josquin
period,
roughly
1480-‐1520”
he
acknowledges
the
“transition

from
‘cantus
firmus’
to
‘parody’
mass”
but
also
notes
a
larger
“transformation

of
the
received
musical
language.”
102

In
a
comparison
of
the
two
masses,

Sparks
notes
the
following
differences
from
a
compositional
and

performance
standpoint:

Obrecht’s
lines
are
apt
to
show
a
whimsical
complexity

of
patterns
which
may
be
uncouth
or
even
unclear.

Josquin’s
patterns
are
organized
and
rationalized
by

skillfully
varied
repetitions
and,
further,
every

statement
is
clearly
audible,
even
though
each
may
be

different
in
some
way.
.
.
.
The
individual
parts
are
not

so
perversely
complex
as
they
sometimes
are
in

Obrecht;
they
are
more
grateful
to
perform
and
the

over-‐all
effect
is
both
more
brilliant
and
more

elegant.
103

Just
as
authorship
of
the
original
three-‐voice
song
pales
in
comparison

to
the
richness
of
the
work’s
progeny,
the
chronology
of
these
two
masses

becomes
a
moot
point
when
examining
the
works
for
their
contribution
to

the
musical
symbolism
of
Fortuna.
A
comparison
does,
however,
reveal
that

102

Wegman,
Born
for
the
Muses,
1.

103

Sparks,
“Cantus
Firmus,”
326.

84

the
compositional
techniques
for
representing
the
goddess
bear
a
marked

similarity:
through
the
manipulation
of
time
and
repetition,
both
composers

were
able
to
construct
a
large-‐scale
work
of
nuanced
symbolism.

In
the
phenomenon
of
Fortuna
desperata,
Renaissance
composers

took
a
popular
song
and
adopted
it
as
a
vehicle
for
transformation,

symbolism
and
expression
beyond
the
notes
on
the
page.
Not
only
does

Fortuna’s
musical
symbolism
expand
with
her
blooming
compositional

popularity,
her
persona
becomes
infinitely
more
complex
as
it
is
textually

wedded
with
various
literary
and
spiritual
icons.
By
the
middle
of
the

sixteenth
century,
the
softest
whisper
of
Fortuna
desperata
unleashed
a

wealth
of
implications
and
allusions.
The
following
chapters
will
explore

these
further
through
detailed
analysis
of
musical
symbols
and
combinative

and
textual
contrafacta.

85

Chapter
3

Musical
Devices
and
their
symbolic
connection
to
Fortuna

It
may
well
be
that
future
research
will

confirm
the
impression
.
.
.
that
the
Middle

Ages
and
Renaissance
fostered
a
concept
of

music
charged
with
underlying
meaning
and

symbolic
power,
hospitable
to
speculative

ideas
and
spiritual
images,
forming
an

inseparable
whole
with
the
thought
of
the

time.
1

The
musical
appeal
of
Fortuna
desperata
is
reflected
in
its
musical

endurance,
but
the
complexity
of
the
musical
symbolism
is
what
makes
this

area
of
study
especially
intriguing.
The
symbolic
implications
related
to
the

combinative
texts
will
be
addressed
in
Chapter
4.
First,
however,
we
will

address
the
variety
of
musical
devices
connected
to
Fortuna
symbolism.

“The
wheel
must
in
some
way
represent
the
idea
of
variation
and

change.”
2

Fortune’s
wheel
is
ripe
for
musical
symbolism.
Not
only
does
it

represent
“variation
and
change,”
its
relentless
turning
documents
the

passage
of
time,
one
of
the
defining
factors
of
rhythm.
It
can
be
represented

1

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
77.

2

Patch,
“Fortuna
in
Roman
Literature,”
147.

86

by
ostinato,
by
intervallic
sequences
and
scalar
motion.
Nearly
every

compositional
technique
can
be
manipulated
in
a
way
that
reflect

inconstancy
and
transformation,
two
of
Fortuna’s
main
characteristics.
The

purpose
of
this
chapter
is
to
provide
scholars
with
a
basic
guideline
for

identifying
musical
devices
that
are
symbolic
of
Fortuna.

In
his
analysis
of
Josquin’s
Missa
Fortuna
desperata,
Lowinsky
notes

the
simultaneous
use
of
several
“devices
already
familiar
to
us
as
symbolizing

Fortuna,
particularly
in
her
unfavorable
aspect”
including
the
shifting
of
high

to
low,
and
melodic
inversion
and
augmentation.
3

Because
Josquin
chose
to

layer
these
devices
all
within
the
first
Agnus
Dei
of
his
mass,
Lowinsky

bravely
ventures
a
guess
as
to
the
purpose
of
so
many
symbolic
techniques.

Could
it
be
intentional
that
this
symbol
appears
at
the

moment
when
the
Savior
is
confronted
with
the
evil

world,
when
he
is
called
upon
as
bearing
man’s
sins?

This
possibility
should
not
seem
too
extravagant,
since

we
have
pictorial
representations
of
Christ
turning

Fortuna’s
wheel
and
a
literary
tradition
of
‘Christian

Fortuna.’
4

The
following
study
is
an
attempt
to
codify
musical
symbolic
devices

as
they
specifically
relate
to
Fortuna.
Musical
examples
as
found
in
the

various
Fortuna
desperata
settings
are
included.
This
chapter
is
designed
to

3

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
76.

4

Ibid.,
76.

87

function
as
a
guideline
for
recognizing
and
interpreting
musical
symbols

associated
with
the
Goddess
Fortuna.

Number
Symbolism

Number
Symbolism
was
a
popular
form
of
musical
symbolism,
most

often
associated
with
religious
attributions.
“The
notion
of
the
divinity
of

numbers
derives
from
the
Pythagorean
view
that
in
number
is
to
be
found

the
secret
of
the
universe.”
5

Indeed,
nearly
every
number
can
be
connected
to

some
sort
of
symbolic
representation,
however
our
purposes
only
require

awareness
of
the
most
significant.

In
his
article,
“Symbolism
in
the
Sacred
Music
of
Josquin,”
Willem

Elders
discusses
the
numerical
symbols
established
in
the
early
Christian

Church:
that
of
the
three
intersecting
circles
representing
the
Trinity,
the

three-‐headed
figure
of
God,
and
the
Throne
of
Mercy
(in
which
God
holds
up

the
body
of
Christ
while
a
dove
alights
on
his
head).
6

He
lists
several
ways
in

which
composers
can
represent
this
trifold
Christian
symbol:
through

5

Francoise
Carter,
“Number
Symbolism
and
Renaissance
Choreography,”
Dance
Research:

The
Journal
of
the
Society
for
Dance
Research
10,
no.
1
(Spring,
1992):
21.
For
a
more

complete
study
of
number
symbolism,
see
Vincent
E.
Hopper,
Medieval
Number
Symbolism:

Its
Sources,
Meaning
and
Influence
on
Thought
and
Expression
(New
York:
Courier
Dover

Publications,
1969).

6

Willem
Elders,
“Symbolism
in
the
Sacred
Music
of
Josquin,”
in
The
Josquin
Companion,
ed.

Richard
Sherr
(Oxford:
Oxford
University
Press
2000),
531-‐568.

88

rhythmic
movement,
use
of
the
triad
and
employment
of
a
triple
canon.
7

Just

as
the
symbols
of
the
Trinity
were
represented
through
manipulations
of

various
groupings
in
three,
Christ
was
often
invoked
through
the
number

five,
which
represented
his
five
wounds
on
the
cross.
In
early
Christianity,

the
number
twelve
represented
the
Church
but
by
the
Middle
Ages,
the

number
was
more
often
associated
with
the
Virgin
Mary.
She
was
also

associated
with
the
number
seven
because
of
her
Seven
Sorrows
and
Joys.

Indeed,
number
symbolism
functions
as
a
fluid
expression,
easily

represented
in
music
and
easily
manipulated.
8

The
Goddess
Fortuna,
due
to
her
unique
and
fickle
nature,
was
never

associated
with
a
particular
number,
but
it
is
tempting
to
find
meaning
in

references
to
the
number
four
as
corresponding
to
the
four
points
on

Fortune’s
wheel:
regno,
regnavi,
sum
sine
regno,
and
regnabo.
“If
we
.
.
.
take

into
account
the
basic
function
of
numerological
exegesis
in
medieval

Christian
hermeneutics,
it
is
not
surprising
that
composers
from
the
fifteenth

and
sixteenth
centuries
were
encouraged
to
combine
sacred
numbers
with

new
forms
of
symbolism.”
9

7

Elders,
“Symbolism,”
534-‐535.

8

Number
symbolism
can
become
a
bit
of
an
obsession
for
musicologists
who
see
meaning
in

the
number
of
breves
or
rests
without
factoring
in
issues
like
discrepancies
among

manuscripts
and
conflicting
versions
of
one
setting.
In
some
cases,
these
loose
ends
are

overlooked
and
we
are
served
up
with
symbolic
interpretation
that
is
hard
to
swallow.

9

Willem
Elders,
Symbolic
Scores:
Studies
in
the
Music
of
the
Renaissance,
(Leiden:
E.J.
Brill,

1994),
7.

89

Because
number
symbolism
was
such
a
pervasive
technique
in

medieval
and
Renaissance
music,
it
is
almost
used
in
conjunction
with

another
type
of
symbolic
technique.
The
repetition,
frequent
use
of
ostinato,

and
the
addition
of
si
placet
voices,
etc.,
can
all
be
considered
manipulations

of
numeric
aspects
of
the
composition.
Since
this
is
the
case
with
the
Fortuna

desperata
settings,
number
symbolism
will
be
commented
upon
within
the

context
of
the
other
symbolic
devices.

The
Hexachord
and
Mutation

“The
incremental
hexachord
–
as
a
musical
ladder
–
represents
a

common
device
with
which
many
composers
of
Isaac’s
generation
display

particular
fascination,
with
recognized
allegorical
and
symbolic

significance.”
10

This
particular
device
travelled
effortlessly
from
secular
to

sacred
symbolism.
The
term
“heavenly
stairs”
(scala
caelestis)
refers
to
the

10

Adam
Gilbert,
“Isaac
Senfl,
and
a
Fugal
Hexachord,”
from
Canons
and
Canonic
Techniques,

14
th
-16
th

Centuries:
Theory,
Practice,
and
Reception
History,
presented
at
Proceedings
of
the

International
Conference,
ed.
Katelijne
Schiltz
and
Bonnie
J.
Blackburn,
Leuven
(4-‐6
October

2005):
115.

90

use
of
the
hexachord
as
a
means
of
ascending
to
heaven
and
was
often
used

in
conjunction
with
settings
associated
with
the
Virgin
Mary.
11

In
his
polyphonic
setting
Fortuna
ad
voces
musicales
(FD26),
Ludwig

Senfl
presents
a
brilliant
example
of
manipulation
of
the
hexachord.
In
this

five
voice
setting,
the
tenor
carries
the
Fortuna
desperata
tenor
melody
while

the
descant
develops
the
hexachord,
sometimes
presenting
it
in
full,

sometimes
in
fragments.
“While
the
tenor,
the
center
of
the
polyphonic

setting,
personifies
Fortuna,
the
up-‐and-‐down
motion
of
the
discant
is
a

perfect
musical
symbol
of
the
wheel.”
12

In
the
opening
section
of
the

discantus,
Senfl
builds
the
hexachord:
ut,
re
–
ut,
re,
mi
–
ut,
re,
mi,
fa
–
ut,
re,

mi,
fa,
sol
–
ut,
re,
mi,
fa,
sol,
la.
13

Once
the
ladder
has
been
assembled,
Senfl

reverses
the
process.

11

The
Virgin
Mary
had
a
strong
connection
with
the
Goddess
Fortuna
as
will
be
discussed
in

Chapter
4.
Because
of
this
connection,
one
might
assume
that
the
presence
of
a
symbol

related
to
the
Virgin
includes,
by
association,
a
reference
to
Fortuna
and
vice
versa.

12

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
74.

13

Isaac
used
the
same
technique
in
his
Marian
motet,
O
decus
ecclesiae.
See
Adam
Gilbert,

“Elaboration
in
the
Three-‐Voice
Mass
Sections
and
Untexted
Compositions
of
Heinrich
Isaac,”

(Ph.D.
diss.,
Case
Western
Reserve
University,
2003),
197.
Josquin
also
used
the
technique
in

his
Marian
motet
Ut
phebi
radiis,
a
work
that
has
been
the
subject
of
heated
debate
regarding

textual
interpretation.
It
has
been
linked
to
the
Order
of
the
Golden
Fleece
in
addition
to
the

Virgin
Mary.
See
Jaap
van
Benthem,
“A
Waif,
a
Wedding,
and
a
Worshipped
Child:
Josquin’s

Ut
Phebi
Radiis
and
the
Order
of
the
Golden
Fleece,”
Tijdschrift
van
de
Vereniging
voor

Nederlandse
Muziekgeschiedenis
37
(1987):
64-‐81;
Virginia
Woods
Callahan,
“Ut
Phoebi

Radiis:
The
Riddle
of
the
Text
Resolved,”
in
Josquin
des
Prez:
Proceedings
of
the
International

Josquin
Festival-Conference
Held
at
the
Juilliard
School
at
Lincoln
Center
in
New
York
City,

Edward
E.
Lowinsky
and
Bonnie
J.
Blackburn,
eds.
(London
and
New
York,
1971),
560-‐63;

William
Prizer,
“Music
and
Ceremonial
in
the
Low
Countries:
Philip
the
Fair
and
the
Order
of

the
Golden
Fleece,”
Early
Music
History
5
(1985):
113-‐153.
See
also
Gilbert,
“Isaac,
Senfl,
and

a
Fugal
Hexachord.”

91

The
hexachord
is
a
sacred
symbol
in
itself,
referencing
the
Virgin
Mary

and
her
path
to
heaven,
but
it
is
Senfl’s
manipulation
of
the
hexachord
that

echoes
Fortuna.
Senfl’s
ingenious
treatment
of
this
widespread
musical

symbol
earned
him
praise
from
his
contemporaries.
“Heyden,
Glarean
(who

calls
the
work
Ionian),
and
Faber
all
use
this
composition
in
their
treatises,

and
the
combination
of
hexachords
and
extensive
ligature
use
in
this
piece

makes
it
a
valuable
pedagogical
work.”
14

Mutation
of
the
hexachord
was
another
practical
tool
used
by

composers
to
depict
change.
“The
term
[mutation]
was
used
by
poets
and

philosophers
to
describe
Fortune’s
power
of
changing
human
fate,
and
by

musicians
to
designate
a
change
of
hexachord.
Thus
change
of
key,
i.e.

modulation,
was
used
in
one
of
the
earliest
experiments
of
that
nature
in

order
to
create
a
musical
symbol
for
the
goddess
of
Fortune.”
15

Mutation
in
the
most
general
sense
has
a
direct
effect
upon
perception

of
the
figure
in
question.
Musically,
mutation
is
a
manipulation
that
can
take

place
both
imperceptibly
and
suddenly,
creating
an
entirely
new
tonal

universe.
“There
is
an
even
finer
connotation:
Horace,
Boethius,
and
after

them
many
other
writers
–
among
them
Dante
and
Boccaccio
–
use
the
word

14

Meconi,
Thirty-Six
Settings,
180.

15

Lowinsky,
“Greiter’s
Fortuna,”
515.

92

mutare
in
describing
Fortuna’s
activities.
Now,
mutare
is
also
the
musical

term
of
the
time
indicating
a
tonal
change
of
transposition.”
16

Mutation
of
the
hexachord
became
a
specialized
means
of

representing
Fortune’s
circling
wheel.

Johannes
Martini
uses
precisely
this

technique
of
shifting
hexachords
to
depict
Fortuna’s
mutability
in
his
setting

of
Fortuna
desperata
(FD9).

The
most
blatant
and
daring
use
of
the
mutating
hexachord
can
be

found
in
Matthaus
Greiter’s
Passibus
ambiguis
(FD27).
Lowsinky
has
written

extensively
on
the
startling
harmonic
progression
of
Greiter’s
hexachordal

construction.
“Greiter
.
.
.
modulates
with
all
four
voices
from
F
major
to
F-‐flat

major,
demonstrating
full
grasp
of
the
harmonic
implications
of
the

hexachord
mutations.”
17

Not
only
is
Greiter
experimenting
with
progressive

harmonic
shifts,
the
nature
of
each
mutation
–
movement
by
a
fifth
–
swings

the
hexachord
through
the
circle
of
fifths,
embracing
yet
another
of
Fortuna’s

symbolic
elements.
“The
wandering
from
key
to
key,
the
mutation
from

hexachord
to
hexachord…is
designed
to
depict
in
tones
the
fickle
Goddess
of

Fortune
wandering
with
unpredictable
steps
and
remaining
at
no
place
firm

and
reliable.”
18

16

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
67.

17

Lowinsky,
“Greiter’s
Fortuna,”
508.

18

Ibid.,
509.

93

A
different
kind
of
mutation:
Tenor
in
mi

Gaffurius
writes
in
his
Practica
musicae
of
1496,
“Gregory
says
in

Moralia
that
‘mutation
is
the
movement
from
one
state
to
another
which

itself
is
not
stable,
for
the
one
tends
toward
the
other
in
the
degree
that
it
is

subject
to
the
movements
of
its
own
mutability.’”
19

Cumming’s
technique
of

Fortuna
in
mi
also
falls
under
the
category
of
mutation
as
a
symbolic

representation
of
Fortuna.
As
both
Cumming
and
Meconi
have
established,

there
is
a
strong
tradition
of
transposing
the
tenor
of
Fortuna
desperata
from

fa/Lydian,
a
mode
associated
with
Jupiter/Strong
Fortuna,
to
mi/Phrygian,
a

mode
associated
with
Mars
and
Mercury.
20

High
to
Low,
Low
to
High

As
seen
in
the
history
of
writings
on
Fortuna,
there
is
a
rabid

obsession
with
her
ability
to
shift
man’s
fate
from
high
to
low.
This
easily

translates
into
musical
symbolism
with
the
use
of
inversion,
alternating

intervallic
leaps,
and
ascending
and
descending
runs.
Martini’s
setting
FD9

Fortuna
disperata
features
the
latter
variety.
In
this
setting,
Martini
preserves

19

Gaffurius,
Practica
musicae
(1496),
ed.
and
trans.
Clement
A.
Miller,
Musicological
Studies

and
Documents
20
(Rome:
American
Institute
of
Musicology,
1968),
35,
from
Julie
Cumming,

“Fortuna
Revisited,”
12.

20

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
11.

94

the
superius
and
uses
a
repeated
motive
in
the
lower
three
parts
that
rises,

step-‐wise,
up
a
fifth
then
drops
suddenly
back
down
to
the
starting
pitch.

Example
3.1
FD9
Fortuna
disperata,
Johannes
Martini

“Again
the
use
of
three
different
hexachords
calls
for
mutation
to

depict
Fortuna,
while
the
motive,
ascending
slowly
and
falling
swiftly,
may
be

trying
to
symbolize
her
wheel.”
21

The
architecture
of
this
particular
theme

offers
a
musical
description
of
Fortune’s
wheel:
after
a
dogged
effort
to
rise,
a

sudden
shift
causes
an
abrupt
drop
back
to
the
starting
point.

The
opening
eight
bars
of
FD12,
an
anonymous
reworking
using
the

superius
as
cantus
firmus,
reveal
a
startling
use
of
flip-‐flopping
fourths
and

21

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
74.

95

thirds
in
the
two
inner
voices
bound
by
the
slow-‐moving
cantus
firmus
in
the

superius
and
the
imitative
bassus.

Example
3.2
FD12

Fortuna
disperata,
anonymous

The
rhythmic
motive
of
the
inner
voices
overtakes
the
bassus
and

continues
for
the
duration
of
the
piece.
In
fact,
it
is
the
altus
that
has
the
last

word
after
all
of
the
other
voices
have
come
to
rest
on
their
finals.

Although
we
have
already
noted
the
use
of
hexachord
mutation
in

Greiter’s
Passibus
Ambiguis
(FD27),
the
opening
motive
also
features
the

interval
of
a
fifth
stated
five
times
in
quick
succession.

96

Example
3.3
FD27
Passibus
ambiguis,
Matthias
Greiter

In
both
examples
(FD12
and
FD27),
this
relentless
jumping
from
high

to
low
mimics
Fortune’s
fickle
nature
and
the
inevitable
turn
of
her
wheel.

In
Nasci,
pati,
mori
(FD25),
Senfl
uses
a
dramatic
descending
motive
to

represent
Fortune’s
shift
from
high
to
low
and
also
as
a
musical
illustration

of
the
text.
22

The
descent
from
birth
(nasci)
to
suffering
(pati)
to
death
(mori)

is
repeated
over
and
over
again,
creating
a
mantra-‐like
effect,
looping
the

cycle
of
high
to
low.

22

The
relationship
between
the
musical
motive
and
the
text
of
Nasci,
pati,
mori
will
be

discussed
in
greater
detail
in
Chapter
4.

97

Example
3.4
FD25
Nasci,
pati,
mori,
Senfl

Ostinato
and
Repetition

The
ostinato
is
another
musical
device
used
to
represent
the
turning

of
Fortune’s
wheel.
Its
continual
repetition
epitomizes
the
dogged

inevitability
of
fate
and
the
man’s
inability
to
escape
it.
The
use
of
ostinato
as

a
musical
symbol
is
not
new
to
the
Renaissance,
however,
contemporary

treatises
most
often
used
the
medieval
term,
color,
to
describe
repeated

phrases.
23

This
technique
originated
in
rhetoric
and
was
employed
by
most

major
composers
as
a
means
of
emphasis.

23

Elders,
Symbolic
Scores,
61.

98

Since
rhetoric
and
musical
symbolism
are
so
frequently

found
in
each
other’s
company,
we
may
expect
that

often
the
composer’s
primary
concern
was
the
matter
of

a
soggetto
ostinato
and
its
relationship
to
the
work
in

which
it
occurred.
This
is
particularly
the
case
when
the

soggetto
ostinato
also
has
its
own
text,
since
the
two

levels
of
meaning
sometimes
appear
to
intentionally

conceal
various
elements
of
the
fascinating
world
of

medieval
Christian
faith.
24

“With
the
exception
of
the
Missa
Stephane
gloriose
by
Pierre
Moulu,

the
soggetto
ostinato
is
in
the
form
of
the
litany
formula
‘Sancte
(Sancta)
N.,

ora
pro
nobis.’”
25

This
is
certainly
the
case
with
Isaac’s
Fortuna

disperata/Sancte
Petre/Ora
pro
nobis
(FD10)
in
which
the
composer
has

combined
the
Fortuna
desperata
superius
with
four
additional
voices,
two
of

which
complete
chant
for
the
litany
of
saints.
The
tenor
calls
out
to
the
saints

and
the
quintus
responds
with
“ora
pro
nobis”
a
total
of
eleven
times.
While

these
two
voices
are
steadily
progressing,
the
additional
three
voices

(including
the
original
superius)
spin
and
whirl
around
them.
It
is
the

author’s
opinion
that
the
effect
is
such
that
the
prayer
to
the
saints
remains

steadfast
despite
Fortune’s
chaotic
machinations.

24

Ibid.,
61.

25

Ibid.,
72.

99

Example
3.5
FD10
Fortuna
disperata/Sancte
Petre/Ora
pro
nobis

“Quite
often
a
series
of
restatements
of
the
musical
phrase
or
motif

appears
to
be
based
on
number
symbolism.”
26

As
noted,
the
soggetto
ostinato

appears
eleven
times,
a
number
associated
with
the
Apostles
after
Judas
has

betrayed
Christ.

The
ostinato
is
also
appears
in
FD9,
FD25,
and
in
FD27.
In
addition
to

the
obvious
use
of
high
to
low
in
the
main
motive,
Martini
(FD9)
plays
with

organized
repetition
and
imitation
of
the
theme
in
the
three
added
voices.

Senfl
uses
motivic
repetition
throughout
Nasci,
pati,
mori
(FD25),
repeating

text
as
well
as
music.
The
ostinato
is
often
used
in
connection
with
mutation

as
is
the
case
for
FD27.
“Greiter
symbolizes
Fortuna’s
constant
inconstancy

26

Ibid.,
62.

100

by
the
consistent
transposition
of
an
ostinato
motif.”
27

Similar
to
FD10,
there

are
eleven
statements
of
the
ostinato
motif,
each
one
moving
by
down
by

fifths.

Rhythmic
Play:
patterns,
augmentation
and
diminution

We
have
already
established
the
symbolic
representation
of
Fortuna

governing
wheels
spinning
in
different
directions,
at
different
speeds.

Lowinsky
presents
us
with
an
apt
explanation
of
how
this
could
be
achieved

musically.
“To
reproduce
this
in
music,
one
voice
would
have
to
give
the

Fortuna
melody
at
a
fast
pace,
another
at
a
slow
pace
–
or
‘augmented’,
as

music
theory
terms
it
–,
a
third
voice
would
have
to
accompany
the
first

melody
at
its
own
brisk
rate
but
in
contrary
motion,
while
a
fourth
voice

would
move
slowly
but
again
in
contrary
motion.”
28

A
number
of
Fortuna
desperata
settings
employ
a
simpler
version
of

this
device:
a
slow-‐moving
voice
is
surrounded
by
faster
voices
(not

necessarily
statements
of
the
Fortuna
melody).
While
we
can
easily
interpret

this
as
being
symbolic,
it
is
not
unusual
for
cantus
firmi
to
be
stated
in
slower

integers
than
the
surrounding
voices.
It
is
noteworthy,
however,
when
the

27

Lowinsky,
“Greiter’s
Fortuna,”
519.

28

Lowinsky,
“The
Goddess
Fortuna
in
Music,”
75.

101

cantus
firmi
itself
is
rhythmically
manipulated.
Both
FD31
Consideres
mes

incessantes
plaintes/Fortuna
desperata
and
FD32
Anima
mea
liquefacta

esta/Amica
mea
treat
the
opening
phrases
of
the
tenor
in
this
fashion.
The

first
two
phrases
of
the
Fortuna
desperata
tenor
are
stated
twice,
the
first

time
at
integor
valor
and
the
second
time
in
diminution.
“According
to

Cumming,
this
is
probably
an
example
of
the
two
wheels
of
fortune
(slow
and

fast,
bad
and
good).”
29

Josquin
and
Obrecht
also
use
this
technique
in
their

Fortuna
desperata
masses.

Palindromes,
Canons,
Inversion
and
Retrograde-Inversion

In
Chapter
2,
we
discussed
the
palindrome
as
a
feature
of
the
original

Fortuna
desperata
being
representative
of
Fortuna’s
wheel
and
as
a
historical

reference
to
the
Medici
family.
Obrecht,
in
particular,
finds
inspiration
in
the

palindrome
of
the
opening
tenor
phrase
and
uses
it
to
construct
a

symmetrical
relationship
between
the
Gloria
and
the
Credo.
Obrecht
also

employs
a
retrograde
statement
of
the
cantus
firmus
in
the
opening
bars
of

the
Gloria
and
continues
with
a
three-‐voice
canon.
“As
Craig
Wright
has

shown,
the
most
prominent
examples
of
retrograde
motion
from
the
late

29

Meconi,
Thirty-Six
Settings,
185.

102

fifteenth
and
early
sixteenth
centuries
appear
in
Agnus
Dei
movements
set
to

Christological
cantus
firmi.”
30

After
enduring
the
crush
of
Fortune’s
wheel

and
a
descent
into
Hell,
Christ
reverses
the
direction
of
the
wheel,
changing

his
fate
and
thus
defeating
Fortune.

FD16
Sanctus
uses
the
original
tenor
as
a
cantus
firmus
and
adds
an

imitative
superius
and
two
florid
voices.
Isaac
constructs
a
canon
at
the
fifth

between
the
tenor
and
alternating
between
the
superius
(mm.
1-‐15),
altus

(mm.
16-‐25),
the
superius
again
(mm.
26-‐30,
mm.
37-‐43).

Example
3.6

FD16
Sanctus,
Isaac

30

David
Rothenberg,
The
Flower
of
Paradise:
Marian
Devotion
and
Secular
Song
in
Medieval

and
Renaissance
Music
(New
York:
Oxford
University
Press,
2011),
178.

103

In
this
setting,
the
interval
of
a
fifth
becomes
symbolically
significant.

The
number
five
was
associated
with
the
Passion
of
the
Christ.
During
the

Canon
of
the
Mass,
the
priest
makes
the
five
signs
of
the
cross
over
the
bread

and
wine,
indicating
that
“the
world
is
redeemed
through
the
five
wounds
of

Christ.”
31

This
is
clearly
an
instance
where
the
spiritual
symbolism
is
linked

to
the
Christian
faith,
rather
than
that
of
Fortuna.
Moreover,
the
number
five

is
connected
to
the
Virgin
Mary
whose
life
events
add
up
to
five.
In
that
case,

the
connection
to
Fortuna
becomes
clearer
since
there
is
an
obvious

relationship
between
the
two
female
figures.
32

It
is
impossible
to
fully
appreciate
the
Fortuna
desperata
settings

without
having
a
foundation
in
the
various
musical
symbols
associated
with

the
Goddess.
Over
the
course
of
this
study,
two
settings
in
particular

continued
to
reveal
layers
of
musical
symbolism:
Nasc,
pati,
mori
(FD25),
and

Passibus
ambiguis
(FD27).
This
is
not
surprising
since
both
settings
were

composed
in
the
more
mature
phase
of
the
Fortuna
desperata
tradition,

supplying
both
Senfl
and
Greiter
with
a
wealth
of
symbolic
musical
devices.

In
the
following
chapter,
we
will
examine
the
significance
of

combinative
and
textual
contrafacta
as
vehicles
for
allusions
and
other

symbolic
interpretations.

31

Elders,
Symbolic
Scores,
62.

32

See
more
about
the
relationship
between
Fortuna
and
the
Virgin
Mary
in
Chapter
4.

104

Chapter
4

The
Relationship
between
Text
and
Music
in
Fortuna
desperata

Settings

The
complexities
of
mannerist

combinations
were
thought
to
reflect
the

intricacies
of
a
universe
full
of
secret

correspondences.
Thus,
in
polytextual
chansons

and
motets,
the
hitherto
unsuspected

relationships
between
widely
disparate
elements

are
illuminated
by
their
provocative

combination.
1

The
relationship
between
music
and
text
reveals
layers
of
hidden

symbolism,
especially
when
dealing
with
the
pregnant
allusions
so
prevalent

in
Renaissance
music.
“Renaissance
composers
could
use
a
melodic
quotation

(or
also
a
melodic
allusion)
to
create
a
textual
allusion:
the
quoted
or
slightly

altered
notes
were
understood
to
allude
to
the
unquoted
text.”
2

Exegesis
is

key
to
understanding
the
symbolism
of
and
inspiration
behind
combinative

compositions.
In
some
cases,
composers
combined
a
secular
tune
with
a

sacred
text,
either
as
a
replacement
or
addition;
other
settings
combine
the

1

Maria
Maniates,
“Quodlibet
Revisum,”
Acta
Musicologica
38,
Fasc.
2/4
(Apr.
–
Dec.
1966):

177.

2

Christopher
Reynolds,
“The
Counterpoint
of
Allusion
in
Fifteenth-‐Century
Masses,”
Journal

of
the
American
Musicological
Society
45,
no.
2
(Summer
1992):
230-‐231.

105

secular
text
with
another
popular
text.
Fortuna
desperata
enjoys
an
eccentric

pedigree
of
combinations
with
Latin,
German
and
French
texts
and
given
that

it
holds
a
unique
role
as
the
only
Italian
song
included
in
the
combinative

compositional
families
identified
by
Meconi
and
its
textual
relationships

could
be
key
in
understanding
the
historical
impact
of
the
song
and
Fortuna

herself.
3

Intertextuality,
Citation,
and
Allusion

Unlike
the
descriptive
text-‐painting
that
became
so
prevalent
in
late

Renaissance
and
early
Baroque
music,
the
relationship
between
text
and

music
in
the
early
Renaissance
was
more
subtle
and
complex.
“A
timely
and

explicit
reference
to
an
existing,
well-‐known
work
offered
a
further

opportunity
for
poets
to
wink
at
their
audience
and
to
involve
it
in
the
poetic

process.”
4

Citation
and
allusion
became
an
extremely
popular
compositional

technique
in
the
thirteenth
century
and
was
enthusiastically
embraced
by

composers
of
the
fourteenth
century,
most
notably
Guillaume
de
Machaut,

who
was
considered
to
be
both
a
great
musician
and
poet.
Musical
citation,

3

Meconi,
“Reworkings,”
1.

4

Yolanda
Plumley,
“Intertextuality
in
the
Fourteenth-‐Century
Chanson,”
Music
&
Letters
84

no.
3
(August
2003):
355.

106

arguably,
lies
within
the
scope
of
imitatio,
but
literary
citation
is
an
entirely

different
category.
As
Maria
Maniates
has
established,
the
repeated
use
of

literary
citations
establishes
a
link
between
a
melody
and
specific
text
so
that

even
when
the
text
is
not
present,
the
connection
remains.
Maniates
dubs

this
phenomenon
melos,
a
powerful
tool
that
composers
repeatedly
use
to

their
advantage.
5

Melos
can
be
present
in
the
case
of
musical
citations
but

also
occurs
when
contrafact
texts
are
used.
This
is
especially
true
in
the
case

of
Fortuna
desperata.

Taking
the
technique
of
citation
and
allusion
one
step
further,

medieval
composers
begin
to
explore
combinative
texts
and
music.

“Combinative
music
is
undoubtedly
an
extremely
vivid
example
of

‘playfulness’
in
an
artistic
medium.
That
"play,"
however,
in
both
its
primitive

and
childlike
phases
can
be
intensely
serious
and
fraught
with
hidden

symbolism.”
6

The
technique
of
combining
texts
was
widely
popular,
from
the

secular
quodlibet
–
an
often
humorous
type
of
musical
expression
–
to
the

layered
complexity
of
the
polytextual
sacred
motet.
Julie
Cumming
and
Maria

Maniates
divide
polytextuality
into
four
distinct
categories:
1)
the
quodlibet;

2)
the
combinative
chanson;
3)
the
motet-‐chanson;
4)
the
motet
with
a

5

Maria
Maniates,
“Combinative
Techniques
in
Franco-‐Flemish
Polyphony:
A
Study
of

Mannerism
in
Music
from
1450-‐1530,”
(Ph.D.
diss.,
Columbia
University
in
the
City
of
New

York,
1965),
12.

6

Maniates,
“Quodlibet,”
170.

107

secular
cantus
firmus.
7

To
this
list
we
can
also
add
the
cantilena
motet,
a

“latin
devotional
text
[set]
to
the
musical
style
of
secular
song.”
8

The
Fortuna

desperata
settings
represent
all
but
one
of
these
categories:
the
motet-‐
chanson.

One
of
the
most
powerful
early
polytextual
motets
involving
Fortune

was
Machaut’s
Ha!
Fortune/Qui
es
promesses
de
Fortune/Et
non
est
qui
qui

adjuvet.
Machaut
combined
two
French
verses,
a
triplum
and
motetus,
both

moving
at
fast
paces,
over
the
slower
tenor.
The
text
of
the
tenor
is
taken

from
Psalm
21:12,
a
response
for
Passion
Sunday:
et
non
est
qui
adjuvet.
9

In

the
face
of
Fortune’s
false
promises,
the
voice
of
both
the
triplum
and

motetus
rue
her
treacherous
influence.
By
combining
these
vernacular
texts

with
the
biblical
verse
asking
for
God’s
vengeance,
Machaut
has
exemplified

one
of
the
means
of
escaping
Fortune:
turning
to
God.
This
particular
motet
is

the
eighth
in
a
cycle
of
seventeen
often
interpreted
as
being
an
allegorical

journey
to
salvation.
10

The
journey
from
Earth
to
Heaven
is
a
common
theme

in
literature
and
art
pertaining
to
Christianity.
By
including
Fortune
as
a

central
figure
in
his
spiritual
journey,
Machaut
has
successfully
used
the

7

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
9.
Cumming
derives
her
categorization
from
Maniates’

dissertation
research,
as
cited
in
Cumming’s
article.

8

Rothenberg,
The
Flower
of
Paradise,
92.

9

“And
there
is
no
one
to
help.”

10

Anne
Walters
Robertson,
“Machaut’s
motets
1-‐17
and
the
medieval
mystical
tradition,”
in

Guillaume
de
Machaut
and
Reims:
Context
and
Meaning
in
his
Musical
Works
(Cambridge:

Cambridge
University
Press,
2002),
102.

108

polytextual
model
to
link
the
pagan
goddess
to
the
Christian
doctrine.
11

Machaut’s
accomplishments
in
the
field
of
citation
and
polytextuality

certainly
influenced
Renaissance
composers
and
it
is
especially
apparent
in

the
Fortuna
desperata
settings.
Nearly
every
setting
out
of
thirty-‐six
is

associated
in
some
way
with
an
additional
text
and
“the
texts
with
which

‘Fortuna
desperata’
is
combined
can
all
be
associated
with
Fortuna
in
one
of

her
guises.”
12

Combinative
Settings
with
Sacred
Texts

“Polyphonic
approaches
to
word
setting
create
two
broad
genres:

‘consensual’,
where
the
voices
sing
the
same
words,
and
‘critical’,
where
they

express
differing
views.”
13

This
is
especially
relevant
to
Fortuna
given
her

changing
nature
–
is
she
friend
or
foe?

Does
the
combinative
element
of
the

various
Fortuna
desperata
settings
illuminate
some
aspect
of
the
Renaissance

perspective
on
fate?
Composers
in
the
Renaissance
also
expanded
upon

another
medieval
musical
tradition:
the
combination
of
secular
tunes
and

11

Machaut
also
wrote
a
ballade
dedicated
to
Fortune,
De
Fortune
me
doy
pleindre
et
loer

(Ballade
23),
which
was
later
quoted
by
Matteo
de
Perugia
in
a
combinative
quotation
Se
je

me
plaing
de
Fortune.
The
subject
of
both
works
is
Fortune’s
involvement
in
a
love

relationship.

12

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
15.

13

David
Maw,
“Machaut
and
the
‘Critical’
Phase
of
Medieval
Polyphony,”
Music
&
Letters
87,

no.
2
(2006):
262.

109

sacred
texts
and
vice
versa.
The
deliberate
use
of
a
secular
tune
for
a
sacred

text
offers
composers
unusual
opportunities
for
hidden
symbolism.
“The

work
of
Michael
Long,
Craig
Wright,
and
most
recently
Jennifer
Bloxom
has

shown
that
secular
cantus
firmi
were
heard
as
sacred
symbols
in
the
fifteenth

century.
And
since
Renaissance
composers
tended
to
borrow
the
same

models…over
and
over,
we
can
discern
patterns
in
how
these
secular

materials
were
interpreted
on
a
sacred
level.”
14

The
musical
symbolism

related
to
the
Goddess
Fortuna,
having
already
been
established
in
the

previous
chapter,
becomes
more
significant
when
the
addition
of
a
sacred

text
unleashes
myriad
interpretations
of
the
Goddess.
How
does
the
text

change
our
understanding
of
Fortuna
and
what
is
the
meaning
of
such

combined
symbolism?

Conversely,
how
does
the
use
of
the
Fortuna

desperata
melody
or
text
in
association
with
sacred
texts
affect
the
spiritual

message?

We
have
already
noted
that
mutability
and
transformation
are

common
themes
associated
with
the
Goddess
and
the
very
act
of
laying
a

sacred
text
over
the
secular
tune
changes
not
only
our
understanding
of

Fortuna
but
also
the
music
itself.
“Unexpected
meanings
arise
from
the

deliberate
union
of
disparate
texts
and
melodies
that
do
not
appear
to
belong

14

David
Rothenberg,
“Angels,
Archangels,
and
a
Woman
in
Distress:
The
Meaning
of
Isaac’s

Angeli
archangeli,”
The
Journal
of
Musicology
21,
no.
4
(Fall
2004):
519.

110

together;
their
hidden
relationship
comes
to
light
only
through
their

ingenious
juxtaposition.”
15

Maniates
writes,
“The
coupling
of
a
secular
image

with
a
sacred
subject
illustrates
the
ambivalence
of
meaning
common
to

cryptic
symbolism.”
16

And
according
to
Cumming,
“Maniates
claims
that
a

cantus
firmus
in
a
piece
from
one
of
these
genres
retains
the
associations
of

the
original
text,
which
then
relate
in
some
way
to
the
new
text;
this

combination
provides
an
expression
of
the
complexity
of
the
universe.”
17

Incipits
play
a
particularly
interesting
role
in
the
study
of
the

relationship
between
music
and
text.
Inscribed
at
the
beginning
of
a

manuscript,
they
usually
only
contain
the
first
few
words
of
a
longer
text.
In

some
cases,
an
incipit
is
written
amidst
other
contrafacta
making
it
unlikely

that
the
words
were
ever
distinctly
heard.
Rather,
the
incipit
functioned
as
an

additional
symbol
linking
the
music
to
another
text
and
more
symbolism.
In

this
function,
they
embody
Thomas
Mann’s
description
in
Faustus
of

“composers
.
.
.
secretly
next[ing]
in
their
writings
things
that
were
meant

more
for
the
reading
eye
than
for
the
ear.”
18

In
her
discussion
on
the
combination
of
sacred
and
secular
texts,

Maniates
distinguishes
between
two
categories:
those
that
“raise
the
chanson

15

Maniates,
“Quodlibet,”
171.

16

Maniates,
“Combinative
Techniques,”
187.

17

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
9.

18

Thomas
Mann,
Doctor
Faustus,
(London
1949),
61,
in
Willem
Elders,
Symbolic
Scores,
9.

111

melody
from
its
original
realm
to
a
higher
spiritual
plane”
and
others
that

“combine
sacred
and
secular
melodies
in
a
mocking
and
slightly

blasphemous
vein.”
19

Honey
Meconi’s
compilation
of
Fortuna
desperata

settings
compiles
a
critical
commentary
that
includes
information
regarding

contrafacta,
combinative
texts,
and
incipits.
20

Table
4.1
shows
the
sacred

texts
associated
with
Fortuna
desperata.

19

Maniates,
“Quodlibet,”
174.

20

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
157.

112

Table
4.1:
Sacred
Texts
23

21

The
setting
designation
is
based
on
Honey
Meconi’s
compilation.

22

This
term
is
used
loosely,
of
course.
The
type
of
friendship
could
refer
to
human

relationships
as
well
as
spiritual
ones.
Because
this
particular
Latin
phrase
was
used
in

conjunction
with
another
biblical
Latin
text,
one
could
assume
that
the
“friend”
in
question

was
Christ,
the
bridegroom.

23

The
organization
of
this
table
is
based
on
a
similar
study
and
table
compiled
by
Michael
A.

Anderson
in
his
dissertation,
“Symbols
of
Saints:
Theology,
Ritual,
and
Kinship
in
Music
for

John
the
Baptist
and
St.
Anne
(1175-‐1563),”
(Ph.D.
diss.,
The
University
of
Chicago,
2008),

548.

Title
of
Text
Source
Subject
Fortuna
desperata

setting
21

O
Panis
vite
Liturgical
chant

Written
for
the
feast
of

Corpus
Christi;
the
bread
of

life

FD
1

Virginis
alme
parens
Unknown
St.
Anne
FD
2

Ave
stella
fulgida
unknown
Virgin
Mary
FD
2

Poi
che
t’hebi
nel
core
Francesco

d’Albizo

Prayer
to
Jesus
FD
2
and
FD
4

Fortuna
desperata
quae

te
dementia
coepit

[vertit]

Virgil,
Eclogae;

Virgil,
Aeneid

Prayer
to
God
to
end

suffering
at
the
hands
of

Fortune

FD
2,
FD
34
and
FD

36

Sancte
Petre,
ora
pro

nobis

A
litany
of
Saints
A
prayer
for
intercession

from
the
Saints

FD
10

Sanctus
Mass
Holy,
Holy,
Holy
FD
16

Esurientes
implevit

bonis

Magnificat
The
Bounty
of
God,
charity

for
the
poor;
the
Virgin
Mary

FD
18

O
Crux
Ave
Ancient
Roman

hymn,
Vexilla

regis

The
Holy
Cross
FD
19

Pange
Lingua
Hymn
by
St.

Thomas
of

Aquinas

written
for
the
Feast
of

Corpus
Christi;
often
sung

on
Maundy
Thursday;
the

hymn
celebrates
the
miracle

of
transubstantiation

FD
22

Virgo
Prudentissima
Antiphon

The
prudent
Virgin
FD
23

Helena
desiderio
plena
Psalm
antiphon

for
the
feast
of

the
Finding
of

the
Holy
Cross

The
Holy
Cross
FD
24

Ave
mater
matris
Dei
unknown
St.
Anne
FD
30

Herr
durch
dein
Blut
German

Protestant
text

Blood
of
Christ
FD
22

Anima
mea
liquefacta

est

Song
of
Songs
Sick
with
love
and
longing
FD
32

Amica
mea
Unknown

friendship
22

FD
32

113

As
discussed
in
the
previous
chapter,
number
symbolism
plays
an

important
role
in
the
dissection
of
Renaissance
music.
In
the
case
of
a
sacred

text
combined
with
a
secular
one,
number
symbolism
provides
the
composer

with
a
means
of
imposing
a
spiritual
layer
upon
the
secular
platform.
In

addition
to
looking
for
textual
connections
as
a
means
of
explaining
the

combination
of
a
Fortuna
song/text
with
a
sacred
text,
certain
numbers
in

particular
become
prominent.

There
are
two
Fortuna
desperata
combinative
settings
that
focus
on

the
subject
of
the
bread
of
life
and
the
miracle
of
transubstantiation:
FD1
and

FD22.
The
act
of
transforming
bread
and
wine
into
the
body
of
Christ
is
one

of
the
most
revered
miracles
of
the
Christian
faith.
O
Panis
Vite,
a
text
taken

from
the
Book
of
Common
Prayer,
is
a
contrafactum
associated
with
the

earliest
extant
manuscript
containing
the
original
three-‐voice
Fortuna

desperata
(FD
1).
But
how
or
why
is
the
original
song
associated
with
the

Panis
Vite,
another
chant
celebrating
the
bread
of
life?

Perhaps
it
is
not
so

curious
that
the
original
song
is
linked
with
a
text
venerating
one
of
the
most

well
known
instances
of
sacred
transformation
given
Fortuna’s
established

history
with
various
forms
of
mutation.
If
Fortuna
desperata
was
commonly

known
to
be
associated
with
the
Panis
vite,
then
perhaps
Senfl’s
combinative

setting,
FD22,
is
not
so
mysterious.

114

FD22,
by
Senfl,
combines
the
original
Italian
tenor
with
two
texts

celebrating
the
body
of
Christ.
The
German
text,
Herr
durch
dein
Blut,
is
a

contrafact
for
the
original
Latin
chant,
Pange
lingua.
The
chant
is
presented

in
its
original
mode,
Phrygian,
in
the
discantus,
while
the
tenor
is
preserved

in
its
original
Lydian
mode.
Although
this
does
not
fall
into
Cumming’s

category
of
“Fortuna
in
mi,”
it
is
still
a
striking
example
of
modal

juxtaposition.
24

The
Fortuna
desperata
cantus
firmus
is
the
only
voice
with
a

flat
key
signature;
the
other
voices
share
the
mode
of
the
Pange
lingua
chant.

It
becomes
a
battle
of
cantus
firmi
and
their
respective
modes.
The
nature
of

the
situation
itself
becomes
a
commentary
on
the
relationship
between

Fortuna
and
the
Christ.
Which
is
the
dominant
force?

Because
of
the

conflicting
modes,
the
Fortuna
desperata
tenor
enters
after
the
Pange
lingua

and
finishes
before
it.
In
this
sense,
it
seems
Christ
prevails
and
Fortuna
is

enveloped
within
the
Christian
faith.
However,
Cumming,
expounding
upon

Ramos’
Musica
practica
of
1482,
also
argued
that
the
Phyrgian
mode

represented
a
“wrathful,
destructive
Mars,”
an
attitude
rather
contradictory

to
the
life
of
Christ.
And
Meconi
notes
that
although
the
Fortuna
desperata

tenor
begins
late
and
ends
early,
“when
[it]
is
present,
it
is
in
charge;
the

hymn
is
the
one
that
must
work
around
Fortuna
desperata
and
hence
is

24

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
17.

115

treated
flexibly,
rather
than
the
other
way
around.”
25

In
light
of
these
musical

observations,
the
symbolic
connection
between
Fortuna
desperata
and
Pange

lingua
becomes
increasingly
blurred.

The
Fortuna
desperata
setting
designated
as
FD2
is
associated
with
no

less
than
four
contrafact
texts,
each
one
addressing
a
different
aspect
of
the

Christian
faith:
St.
Anne,
the
Virgin
Mary,
the
love
of
Christ
and
the

omnipotent
power
of
God.
This
earliest
appearance
of
this
setting
is
in
the

manuscript
Paris
4379,
most
likely
compiled
in
Naples
or
Rome
and

generally
dated
between
1470-‐1485.
26

FD2
is
a
si
placet
setting,
adding
an

altus
to
the
original
three-‐voice
song
so
the
association
between
the
music

and
text
presents
a
curious
conundrum.
These
texts
would
obviously
not

have
been
sung
with
the
music,
but
their
connection
with
the
song
was

important
enough
for
the
scribes
to
include
them
in
the
manuscript.
“This

version
of
Fortuna
desperata
was
the
most
widely
circulated
of
any,

appearing
in
eleven
ensemble
sources
(twice
in
one
of
them)
and
one

intabulation.”
27

Given
its
wide
circulation,
perhaps
the
intent
behind
using
so

many
contrafact
texts
was
to
make
the
work
as
universally
appealing
and

applicable
as
possible,
a
trait
not
unlike
Fortuna
herself.

25

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings
of
an
Italian
song,
178.

26

Ibid.,
151.

27

Ibid.,
162.

116

There
are
also
two
settings
with
texts
connected
to
the
Holy
Cross:

FD19
and
FD24.
Both
settings
use
the
original
tenor,
one
is
anonymous

(FD19)
and
the
other
is
by
Senfl.
28

In
addition
to
the
original
tenor,
O
crux

ave/Fortuna
(FD
19)
quotes
the
hymn
Vexilla
regis
in
the
superius.
The

Vexilla
Regis
hymn,
incidentally
written
by
a
Christian
poet
named
Venantius

Fortunatus,
was
first
performed
in
569
AD
during
a
procession
carrying
a

supposed
relic
of
the
true
cross.
This
musical
quotation
is
an
obvious
choice

as
cantus
firmus;
the
decision
to
use
Fortuna
desperata
as
the
dominant

cantus
firmus
seems
curious
unless
there
is
a
symbolic
connection
between

the
two.
Musically,
the
opening
phrase
of
the
Vexilla
Regis
hymn
mirrors
the

symmetrical
opening
phrase
of
the
Fortuna
desperata
tenor,
establishing
an

instant
aural
link
between
the
two,
however,
the
Vexilla
Regis
hymn

continues
in
longer
note
values
through
the
first
phrase,
and
ends
on
a
long

sustained
pitch,
thus
cementing
its
constancy
and
dominance.
The

similarities
between
the
opening
phrases
of
the
two
cantus
firmi
mimic
a

literary
phenomenon
musicologists
call
intertextuality.
Defining
it
as
a

“textual
cross-‐referencing,”
Yolanda
Plumley
calls
attention
to
this
technique

in
the
works
of
Machaut
who
was
particularly
keen
on
quoting
himself.
29

“In

such
cases,
two
poems…may
share
their
opening
lines,
or…their
refrains,
or

28

Meconi
questions
the
attribution
to
Senfl
mainly
because
the
tenor
matches
the
version

used
by
Isaac,
not
Senfl.
See
Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
174.

29

Plumley,
“Intertextuality,”
365.

117

the
refrain
of
one
may
recur
as
the
incipit
of
another.
On
occasion,
the
cross-‐
reference
goes
further,
with
one
poem
appearing
to
have
been
deliberately

modeled
on
another.”
30

In
FD19,
this
musical
intertextuality
serves
to

highlight
the
link
between
cantus
firmi,
strengthening
the
symbolic

connection
between
Fortuna
and
the
Holy
Cross.

FD24
Helena
desiderio
plena/Fortuna,
the
other
combinative
setting

linked
to
a
text
venerating
the
Cross,
is
also
by
Senfl.
Again,
the
entrance
of

the
original
Fortuna
desperata
tenor
is
significant:
it
does
not
appear
until

measure
32,
after
thirty-‐one
breves
of
rest.
31

At
the
same
time,
the
discantus

secundus
enters,
presenting
another
cantus
firmus
identified
by
Martin

Picker
as
the
antiphon
Helena
desiderio
plena.
32

“Prior
to
the
entry
of
the
two

borrowed
voices,
the
discantus
primus,
contratenor
and
bassa
vox
all
draw

imitative
material
from
the
chant
melody,
and
they
present
the
complete
text

once.”
33

Saint
Helena
was
the
mother
of
the
emperor
Constantine
and

rumored
to
have
found
the
relics
of
Christ’s
cross.
34

Constantine,
being
the

first
Emperor
to
convert
to
Christianity
in
the
fourth
century,
holds
a

significant
place
in
the
history
of
Christianity.
His
mother
also
becomes
an

important
figure,
an
extension
of
the
Virgin
Mary,
who
in
turn
has
deeper

30

Ibid.,
357-‐358.

31

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
179.

32

Ibid.,
179.

33

Ibid.,
179.

34

Ibid.,
179.

118

connection
to
Fortuna.
In
the
Helena
desiderio
plena
text,
Helena
is
portrayed

as
a
woman
in
distress,
weeping
and
praying
with
tears.

In
FD10
Fortuna
disperata/Sancte
Petre/Ora
pro
nobis,
the
composer

(presumably
Isaac)
uses
the
superius
of
the
original
Fortuna
desperata
and
a

chant
for
the
litany
of
saints
separated
between
the
tenor
and
quintus.

Material
from
the
chant
is
used
for
both
voices
and
the
result
is
a
call
and

response
between
the
voices.
The
first
saint
enlisted
is
Peter
and
Meconi

editorially
adds
the
names
of
the
remaining
apostles.
35

While
Maniates
found

the
list
of
the
saints
in
conjunction
with
the
Goddess
Fortuna
to
be
a
“slightly

blasphemous”
36

comedic
recipe
indicative
of
the
desire
to
call
out
to
the

Saints
for
protection
against
Fortune,
Julie
Cumming
finds
the
combination
to

be
in
line
with
“invoking
divine
in
the
struggle”
against
fate.
37

Saints
were

like
the
lesser
gods
and
goddesses
of
the
Pantheon,
representing
unique

personalities
and
assigned
very
specific
duties.
“Not
only
did
they
hold
access

to
the
divine,
but
the
saints
also
gave
protection
to
communities
for
such

concerns
as
the
land
or
crops.”
38

Fortuna
had
also
been
bestowed
with
a

talent
for
adaptation
–
her
divinity
was
easily
modified
for
the
needs
of
the

individual
as
well
as
the
masses.
Isaac’s
setting
can
be
interpreted
in
two

35

Ibid.,
168.

36

Maniates,
“Quodlibet,”
174.

37

Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
17.

38

Anderson,
“Symbols
of
Saints,”
2.

119

ways:
either
a
prayer
that
invokes
the
both
Christian
saints
and
the
pagan

goddess
or
a
plea
to
the
saints
to
act
as
intercessors
against
Fortuna’s
fickle

ways.

Noting
the
contrafact
texts
concerning
St.
Anne
(FD2
and
FD30),

Michael
A.
Anderson
presents
a
fascinating
examination
of
the
connection

between
the
Goddess
Fortuna
and
the
mater
matris.
39

In
his
search
to

validate
the
symbolic
relationship,
Anderson
brings
up
the
often
overlooked

fortuitous
aspects
of
Fortuna
(Fortuna
buona)
as
a
means
of
reconciling
the

seemingly
disparate
figures.

It
is
possible
that
the
composers
of
Virginis
alme
parens
and

Ave
mater
matris
Dei
both
sought
a
parodic
understanding
of

St.
Anne,
ostensibly
cursing
Fortune
for
her
barrenness
and

three
marriages.
The
more
obvious
spiritual
resonance

emanating
from
the
reverent
texts
of
these
contrafacts
involves

St.
Anne
as
a
life-‐giving
genetrix,
which
is
an
image
that
may
be

connected
with
Dame
Fortune’s
benevolent
side
as
a
patroness

of
motherhood.
40

While
Anderson’s
interpretation
certainly
introduces
a
unique

perspective,
one
cannot
forget
that
the
original
Fortuna
desperata
text

mourns
the
defilement
of
a
noble
woman
and
portrays
the
more
disparaging

aspects
of
the
goddess.

Although
not
Christian,
the
text
Fortuna
desperata
quae
te
dementia

coepit
[vertit]
still
presents
as
sacred,
and
is
curiously
associated
with
three

39

Ibid.,
547-‐573.

40

Ibid.,
572-‐573.

120

different
Fortuna
desperata
settings
(FD2,
FD34,
and
FD36).
The
text
is
an

amalgamation
of
writings
by
Virgil:
line
1
from
Eclogae;
lines
2-‐4
from

various
sections
of
the
Aeneid.
41

It
reads
as
a
kind
of
secular
prayer,
with
God

factoring
as
an
aside,
rather
than
a
focus.
Both
FD34
and
FD36
are

incomplete
settings:
only
the
discantus
remains
for
FD34
but
FD36
is
a
six-‐
voice
setting
and
only
two
voices
are
missing.
Oddly,
both
are
also
connected

to
the
obscure
“hypoionian.”
42

FD2,
as
mentioned
earlier,
was
one
of
the
most

widespread
Fortuna
desperata
settings
and
was
connected
with
at
least
three

other
contrafact
texts
and
the
non-‐denominational
appeal
of
Virgil’s
text

might
have
been
a
popular
performance
option.

Fortuna
and
the
Virgin
Mary

There
are
three
combinative
texts
that
specifically
invoke
the
Blessed

Virgin,
FD2,
FD18
and
FD23.
Before
we
discuss
the
specifics
of
these
settings,

it
would
be
prudent
to
examine
the
historical,
cultural,
and
symbolic

relationship
between
Fortuna
and
the
Virgin
Mary.
Having
already

established
a
network
of
interpretations
regarding
Fortuna
and
her

41

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
162.

42

Ibid.,
187-‐188.

121

iconography,
a
comparison
to
the
Virgin
Mary
reveals
astonishing

similarities.

The
qualities
of
the
Blessed
Mother
are
often
evoked
through

metaphor
and
allegory.
David
Rothenberg’s
research
on
the
symbolic

representation
of
the
Virgin
Mary
in
medieval
and
Renaissance
music

consistently
shows
that
Marian
devotion
can
be
seen
in
pastourelles
and

other
courtly
love
stories
when
interpreted
allegorically.
43

In
medieval

music,
the
courtly
love
song
was
“a
song
of
praise
and
devotion
to
a
noble

and
beautiful
–
but
nevertheless
earthly
–
lady.”
44

Many
secular
songs,

however,
undergo
“a
remarkable
transformation,
revealing
that
the
lover

sings
not
of
such
a
woman,
but
of
the
Virgin
Mary.”
45

Conversely,
“western

literature
saw
her
as
the
personification
of
grace
and
purity,
and
the
Virgin

symbolized
therefore
the
nobility
of
woman.”
46

Both
the
Virgin
and
Fortuna
were
also
associated
with
the
sea.

“Petrarch
looks
to
the
Virgin
as
the
sea-‐farer
looks
to
his
guiding
star
in
order

to
be
led
from
sin
to
salvation.”
47

Let
us
not
forget
Fortuna-‐Tyche’s

association
with
the
rudder
and
the
Renaissance
image
of
Fortuna
perched

on
the
rock
amidst
a
roiling
sea.
These
comparisons
compel
one
so
assume

43

Rothenberg,
Flower
of
Paradise,
1.

44

Ibid.,
3.

45

Ibid.

46

Elders,
“Symbolism,”
540.

47

Rothenberg,
Flower
of
Paradise,
106.

122

that
while
there
are
many
instances
of
Fortuna
clashing
with
the
Virgin,
there

are
also
similarities.
This
dichotomy
provides
the
Church
with
a
figure
that

the
Virgin
can
either
envelop
or
subvert.

We’ve
already
noted
Fortuna’s
insidious
habit
of
separating
lovers.

While
many
courtly
love
songs
were
devotional
tributes
of
love,
there
are

instances
in
which
the
poet
sings
of
being
separated
from
his
lady.
If
we

assume
that
the
lady
in
question
is
the
Virgin,
might
we
consider
that
the

presence
of
Fortuna
blocks
the
way
not
just
to
earthly
love
but
also
to
the

heavenly
salvation?

“In
the
texts
of
musical
compositions
.
.
.
she
[Mary]
is

often
called
‘the
Mother
of
God’
and
is
entreated
to
intercede
for
man
with

the
Lord.”
48

Within
the
Christian
universe,
Mary
comes
to
represent
the
link

between
the
earthly
and
the
heavenly.
Fortuna
was
a
goddess
consistently

associated
with
the
practical
realm
(vs.
the
spiritual
realm)
and
her
blindness

contributed
to
the
unbiased
wielding
of
fate.

In
the
medieval
view
of
the

world,
it
is
the
Virgin
Mary
who
lights
the
way
for
man
to
ascend
to
Heaven;

she
is
shining
star,
the
stella
fulgida
amidst
Fortune’s
blindness.
In
another

Marian
text,
Ave
maris
stella,
the
Virgin
is
entreated
to
“send
forth
light
to
the

blind”
[profer
lumen
caecis].
Although
this
text
has
not
been
directly

connected
to
the
Fortuna
desperata
settings,
it
emphasizes
Mary’s
function
as

a
bringer
of
light
and
a
remedy
one
of
Fortuna’s
most
unique
characteristics.

48

Elders,
“Symbolism,”
540.

123

Mary’s
intercession
represented
a
way
for
man
to
escape
the
circling
wheel

of
fate.
FD2
adopts
the
text
Ave
stella
fulgida
as
a
contrafact,
and
in
recent

light
of
the
connections
between
Fortuna
and
the
Virgin,
we
can
safely

assume
that
a
musical,
symbolic
link
would
be
widely
appreciated.

“The
development
of
the
veneration
of
the
Virgin
Mary
contributed

new
elements
to
number
symbolism.”
49

In
addition
to
her
Seven
Sorrows,

there
were
five
major
events
in
Mary’s
life:
the
Conception,
the
Nativity,
the

Annunciation,
the
Purification
and
the
Assumption.
Mary’s
Assumption
was
a

widely
accepted
Christian
event
but
never
sanctioned
by
the
Church
and
so

“the
Assumption
liturgy
had
to
use
indirect
means
to
tell
the
story
that
the

feast
day
celebrated.”
50

Medieval
scholar,
Rachel
Fulton,
presented
a

compelling
study
arguing
that
the
offices
of
the
Assumption
were
compiled
in

the
ninth
century
using
the
Song
of
Songs
as
the
Historia.
51

“They

[composers]
used
the
passages
of
the
love
dialogue
between
sponsus
and

sponsa
quoted
in
antiphons
and
responsories
of
the
Assumption
office
to
tell

the
story
of
Mary’s
bodily
Assumption
in
the
absence
of
literal
scriptural

texts.”
52

Chants
found
in
the
Assumption
Vespers
include
Virgo
prudentissima

and
Anima
mea
liquefacta
est,
both
of
which
are
used
in
Fortuna
desperata

49

Elders,
Symbolic
Scores,
8.

50

Rothenberg,
Flower
of
Paradise,
27.

51

Rachel
Fulton,
“‘Quae
est
ista
quae
ascendit
sicut
aurora
consurgens?’:
The
Song
of
Songs

as
the
Historia
for
the
Office
of
the
Assumption,"
Mediaeval
Studies
60
(1998):
55-‐122.

52

Rothenberg,
Flower
of
Paradise,
28.

124

settings,
further
strengthening
the
relationship
between
Mary
and
Fortuna.

Fortuna
may
have
been
a
mutable
figure,
but
her
inconsistency
was
her

constant
companion;
she
embodied
the
medieval
idea
of
transformation
and

the
Assumption
celebrates
Mary’s
transformation
from
earthly
to
heavenly.

“The
Assumption
is
a
transitional
event.
When
Mary’s
body
is
assumed
into

heaven,
she
is
transformed
from
a
woman
of
this
world
into
the
Queen
of

Heaven.”
53

FD32
is
both
a
combinative
and
contrafact
text.
The
Fortuna
desperata

cantus
firmus
is
reset
with
the
words
“amica
mea”
(my
friend)
-‐
in
addition
to

being
transposed
to
the
Phrygian
mode
54

–
with
“the
first
fifteen
breves
of

the
original
tenor
first
appearing
in
doubled
note
values
and
then
at
integor

valor.”
55

Only
this
fragment
of
the
original
tenor
is
used,
perhaps
to
match

the
fragmented
contrafact
text;
the
Fortuna
text
has
been
completely

subverted.
This
is
a
perfect
example
of
a
musical
treatment
expressing
a

symbolic
idea
–
the
wheels
of
Fortune
spinning
at
different
speeds
–
through

melos
and
rhythmic
manipulation.
“Although
the
tenor
is
noted
in
the
print
as

being
that
of
Fortuna
desperata,
the
words
underlaid
in
the
source
are
‘amica

53

Ibid.,
150.

54

FD32
is
an
example
of
Cumming’s
“Fortuna
in
mi.”

55

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
186.
Meconi
also
notes
that
the
previous
Fortuna
desperata

setting,
FD31,
presents
the
original
tenor
with
the
same
rhythmic
treatment.

125

mea.’”
56

The
other
four
voices
use
text
from
the
Assumption
Office,
“anima

mea
liquefacta
est.”
There
is
obviously
a
play
on
words
here,
following
in
the

footsteps
of
Machaut’s
rhetorical
technique
of
textual
cross-‐referencing.

There
is
also
a
strong
connection
between
this
Assumption
text
from
Song
of

Songs
and
the
Goddess
Fortuna.
The
Song
of
Songs
is
notorious
for
its
use
of

amorous
imagery
and
this
excerpt
is
a
woeful
expression
of
a
lover
sick
from

separation.
Fortuna
is
commonly
associated
with
parting
lovers
thus
the

combination
of
this
particular
text
with
the
Fortuna
desperata
tenor
–

cloaked
under
the
shroud
of
more
textual
symbolism
–
becomes
a
perfect

marriage.

Not
only
is
the
Virgo
prudentissima
text
associated
with
the

Assumption
Offices,
a
closer
reading
and
interpretation
leads
us
to
the

parable
of
the
Wise
and
Foolish
Virgins
in
Matthew
25:1-‐13.
57

The
parable

tells
the
story
of
the
Virgins
wise
enough
to
save
the
oil
in
their
lamp
long

enough
to
meet
the
bridegroom
(Christ);
Mary
is
the
most
prudent
of
them

all,
implying
that
her
lamp
burned
the
brightest
and
the
longest.
Again,
we

encounter
the
connection
between
Mary,
light
and
salvation.

The
word
“surge”
(rise
up)
is
also
heavily
associated
with
Mary’s

Assumption.
The
Virgin
begins
the
same
life
cycle
as
any
in
Fortune’s
path

56

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
186.

57

Rothenberg,
Flower
of
Paradise,
34.

126

but
her
ascent
from
Low
to
High
never
reverses;
instead
she
continues
to

rise,
breaking
free
from
Fortune’s
curse.
If
we
are
to
assume
that
the
Virgin

was
the
earthly
example
of
breaking
free
of
Fortuna’s
cursed
cycle,
it
stands

to
reason
that
she
would
have
one
additional
major
life
event
beyond
the

four
stations
of
Fortuna.
In
FD23,
Senfl
uses
the
Virgo
prudentissima
chant
as

the
basis
for
the
four
voices
surrounding
the
Fortuna
desperata
tenor.
The

opening
phrase
of
the
chant,
Virgo
prudentissima,
begins
by
circling
around

the
final
but
ultimately
ascends
a
fifth
above
the
opening
pitch.

Example
4.1
Opening
phrase
of
Virgo
prudentissima
chant

The
opening
phrase
also
contains
seven
syllables
and
seven
pitches,

paralleling
Mary’s
Seven
Sorrows,
thus
both
of
the
symbolic
numbers

associated
with
the
Virgin
are
represented.
Senfl
continues
to
highlight
this

fragment
in
three
voices
–
discantus,
bassa
vox,
and
contratenor
–
with
the

accompanying
text
(“Most
prudent
Virgin,
where
are
you
going”)
for
nine

breves
before
the
Fortuna
tenor
appears
along
with
one
more
statement
of

the
Virgo
prudentissima
chant
in
the
discantus
secundus.

127

Example
4.2
FD23
Virgo
prudentissima/Fortuna,
Senfl

The
Virgin’s
fate
leads
straight
to
Heaven:
in
addition
to
the
use
of
the

chant
as
an
obvious
symbolic
device,
Senfl
enjoys
a
rare
moment
of
text-‐
painting
on
the
word
“aurora.”
58

By
musically
highlighting
aurora
with
an

ascending
figure,
Senfl
creates
a
musical
depiction
of
Mary’s
ascent
to

heaven.

In
Chapter
3,
we
established
the
use
of
the
hexachord
as
symbolic

device
associated
with
Fortuna
but
it
also
has
connections
with
the
Virgin

Mary.
The
ascent
of
the
Virgin
is
often
portrayed
through
the
use
of
the

hexachord
or
scala
regni
caelestis
as
cantus
firmus.
In
his
marian
motet,
Ut

phoebi
radiis,
“Josquin
presents
the
hexachord
in
fuga
at
the
fifth,
ascending

in
the
prima
pars
and
descending
the
secunda
pars,
music
matched
by
clever

58

“Daybreak.”

128

textual
inversion
of
the
syllables.”
59

Isaac
presents
two
statement
of
the
full

hexachord
(ascent
and
descent)
in
his
Marian
motet,
O
decus
ecclesiae.
60

Because
the
hexachord
is
a
musical
device
linked
to
both
the
Virgin
Mary
and

Fortuna,
its
presence
in
musical
settings
creates
yet
another
layer
of

symbolism.

FD18
Esurientes
implevit
bonis
derives
its
text
from
verse
eight
of
the

Magnificat,
one
of
the
earliest
Marian
hymns.
The
hymn
begins
with
Mary

proclaiming
“my
soul
doth
magnify
the
Lord”
and
continues
to
list
the
ways

in
which
the
Lord
is
great.
The
text
fragment
used
in
the
anonymous
Fortuna

desperata
setting
translates
to
“he
has
filled
the
hungry
with
good
things
and

the
rich
he
has
sent
empty
away.”
61

This
seems
to
be
an
instance
where
God

has
countered
Fortune’s
capriciousness;
he
takes
control
of
her
wheel,

raising
those
who
are
needy
and
lowering
those
who
are
not.
This
particular

Fortuna
desperata
setting
is
part
of
a
full
musical
setting
of
the
Magnificat

although
it
is
the
only
section
to
use
the
Italian
song.
“It
is
also
the
only

59

Adam
Gilbert,
“Isaac,
Senfl,
and
a
Fugal
Hexachord,”
116.
Other
important
articles
on
Ut

phoebi
radiis
include
Jaap
van
Benthem,
“A
Waif,
a
Wedding
and
a
Worshipped
Child:

Josquin’s
‘Ut
phebi
radiis”
and
the
Order
of
the
Golden
Fleece,”
Tijdschrift
van
de
Vereniging

voor
Nederlandse
Muziekgeschiedenis
37
(1987),
64-‐81;
William
Prizer,
“Music
and

Ceremonial
in
the
Low
Countries:
Philip
the
Fair
and
the
Order
of
the
Golden
Fleece,”
Early

Music
History
5
(1985):
113-‐153;
Virginia
Callahan,
“
‘Ut
phebi
radiis’:
The
Riddle
of
the
Text

Resolved,”
in
Josquin
des
Prez,
Proceeding
of
the
International
Josquin
Festival-Conference,

edited
by
E.
Lowinsky,
560-‐563.
London,
1976

60

Gilbert,
“Fugal
Hexachord,”
116.
See
also
Adam
Gilbert,
“Elaboration
in
the
Three-‐Voice

Mass
Sections
and
Untexted
Compositions
of
Heinrich
Isaac,”
(Ph.D.
diss.,
Case
Western

Reserve
University,
2003):
197.

61

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
173.

129

instance
within
the
large
art-‐song
reworking
families
where
a
voice
from
one

of
the
favorite
models
is
used
in
a
Magnificat.”
62

The
Regnat
motet
was
yet
another
musical
development
that
emerged

to
celebrate
Mary’s
coronation
as
“Queen
of
Heaven.”

The
form
refers
to
the

use
of
the
Regnat
tenor,
a
chant
found
in
the
Magnus
liber
organi,
under
the

Assumption
liturgy.
The
word
regnat
“became
a
one-‐word
emblem
of
Mary’s

ascent
to
heaven
and
her
coronation
therein
as
Queen.”
63

Is
it
coincidence

that
the
terminology
for
the
Marian
devotional
coincides
with
the
highest

point
on
Fortuna’s
wheel?

Fortuna’s
relationship
to
the
Virgin
Mary
remains
shrouded.
In
some

instances,
it
seems
Fortuna
transforms
herself
into
the
merciful
Virgin,
in

others,
it
seems
they
are
opposite
sides
to
one
coin.
The
Virgin
is
the

noblewoman,
the
Mater
dolorosa,
who
manages
to
break
the
bonds
of
Fate

and
ascend
to
Heaven
to
become
a
Queen.
She
carves
a
new
path,
a
new
fate

for
mankind,
eluding
Fortune’s
wheel.
Mary
illuminated
Fortune’s
darkness

first
by
becoming
the
“gate
out
of
whom
the
light
of
the
world
came
forth”

(porta
ex
quae
mundo
lux
est
orta)
64

and
with
her
Assumption,
she
revealed

the
path
to
Heaven.

62

Ibid.,
173.

63

Rothenberg,
Flower
of
Paradise,
49.

64

The
text
is
taken
from
the
Ave
regina
caelorum,
translation
by
David
Rothenberg,
Flower
of

Paradise,
36.

130

Combinative
Settings
with
Secular
Texts

Table
4.2:
Combinative
Secular
Texts

Title
of
Text
Source
Subject
Fortuna

desperata

setting

Fortune
esperee
lost
text
Hopeful
Fortune
FD
5

Bruder
Conrat
Popular
German

song

Impending
death
FD
11

Fortuna
desperata

zibaldone

Combination
of

fragments
of
three

different
Italian

poems
including
La

Tortorella
and

Dammene
un
poco

Ribald
nonsense
FD
13

Ich
stund
an
einem

Morgen

Popular
German

song

Parted
lovers
FD
20

Es
taget
vor
dem

Walde

Popular
German

song

Lovers,
parting
at

dawn

FD
21

Nasci,
pati,
mori
unknown
Cycle
of
life
FD
25

Fortuna
ad
voces

musicales

Generic
title
hexachord
FD
26

Passibus
ambiguis
Ovid,
Tristia,
5.8.15-‐
16

Fortune’s

fickleness
and

mutability

FD
27

Consideres
mes

incessantes
plaintes

Popular
French
song

(text
lost)

Unceasing
laments
FD
31

There
are
three
combinative
settings
that
use
popular
German
songs
–

text
and
music
–
two
of
which
are
by
Senfl
(FD20
and
FD21)
and
contain
a

similar
content:
parted
lovers.
Ich
stund
an
einem
Morgen
“is
placed
in
the

contratenor,
and
.
.
.
arranged
around
Fortuna
desperata,
which
remains

131

unchanged.”
65

Given
Fortuna’s
penchant
for
separating
lovers,
it
is
not

unusual
that
Senfl
would
choose
to
keep
the
tenor
steadfast
while

manipulating
the
combinative
song;
in
this
sense,
the
setting
itself
is
a

musical
emblem
of
Fortuna’s
capricious
meddling.
66

Senfl
takes
the
same

approach
with
FD
21
Es
taget
vor
dem
Walde/Fortuna.
67

Bruder
Conrat

(FD11)
is
another
interesting
choice
for
a
combinative
setting.
Isaac
retains

the
superius
of
the
original
Fortuna
desperata
and
adds
three
additional

voices
using
paraphrased
fragments
of
the
German
song
about
a
dying
monk.

FD13
Fortuna
disperata
zibaldone
is
an
unusual
example
of

combinative
texts
and
intertextuality.
There
are
three
different
Italian
poems

combined
with
the
Fortuna
text,
all
sung
simultaneously.
Study
of
these

Italiam
poems
reveals
an
almost
nonsense
tone,
but
all
three
disparate
texts

contain
the
phrase
“Che
mangera
la
sposa?”
(What
will
the
bride
eat?).
68

In

two
of
the
poems,
the
answer
is
“a
grey
pheasant”
(una
fagiana
grigia).
The

pheasant
was
known
as
an
animal
that
symbolized
sexuality
and
these

poems
are
obviously
ribald
texts
wrought
with
sexual
entendres.
These
same

two
texts
contain
a
reference
to
a
mazzacrocha,
a
pastry
shaped
like
a

65

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
175.

66

Senfl
set
the
song
Ich
stund
an
einen
Morgen
six
different
times.

67

Senfl
set
the
song
Es
taget
vor
dem
Walde
nine
different
times.

68

Translation
by
Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
170.

132

phallus.
69

Meconi
finds
this
setting
to
be
an
example
of
“how
far
Fortuna

desperata
had
come
in
the
popular
consciousness.”
70

Originally,
Fortuna

desperata
had
been
a
lament
and
by
the
time
this
setting
was
composed,
the

original
song
was
at
least
forty
years
old.
“What
was
once
a
song
of
mourning

has
been
draped
with
snippets
of
popular
songs
whose
ribald
natures
and

double
meanings
must
have
been
only
too
clear
to
the
listeners.”
71

There
are
two
Fortuna
desperata
settings
associated
with
French

texts,
FD5
and
FD31.
The
manuscript
containing
FD5
only
shows
the
French

incipit,
Fortune
esperee,
(hope-‐for
fortune)
but
Meconi
suggests
the

likelihood
that
“a
contrafact
text
was
present
at
some
point.”
72

FD31
is

another
instance
in
which
only
an
incipit
remains.
Consideres
mes
incessantes

plaines
translates
to
“regard
my
unceasing
laments”
but
the
remaining
text

has
been
lost.
Jaap
van
Benthem
and
Martin
Picker
have
attributed
the
work

to
Josquin.
73

Although
Fortuna
ad
voces
musicales
(FD26)
has
been
included
with

the
secular
texts
associated
with
Fortuna
desperata,
it
is
not
so
much
a
text

69

Ibid.,
189.

70

Ibid.,
170.

71

Ibid.

72

Ibid.,
165.

73

Jaap
van
Benthem,
“Einige
wiedererkannte
Josquin-‐Chansons
im
Codex
18746
der

Ostereichischen
National-‐bibliothek,”
Tijdschrift
van
de
Vereniging
voor
Nederlandse

Musiekgeschiedenis
22
(1971):
32-‐36;
Martin
Picker,
“Henricus
Isaac
and
Fortuna
desperata,”

from
Antoine
Busnoys:
Method,
Meaning,
and
Context
in
Late
Medieval
Music,
ed.
Paula

Higgins
(Clarendon
Press:
Oxford,
1999),
441-‐442;
discussed
by
Meconi
in
Thirty-six
settings,

185.

133

but
a
title,
implying
that
the
namesake
setting
is
an
exercise
in
musical

representations
of
Fortuna.
“Cumming
classifies
this
as
a
combinative
setting

because
of
the
use
of
the
hexachord,
but
this
is
not
the
traditional

understanding
of
that
term.”
74

In
addition
to
the
issue
of
melos
and
the
symbolic
meanings
associated

with
contrafact
texts,
one
must
also
consider
whether
the
new
text
was

reflected
in
the
musical
character
of
the
new
composition.
This
is
most

obvious
in
Passibus
ambiguis
(FD
27)
and
Nasci,
pati,
mori
(FD
25).

Both

settings
employ
numerous
musical
devices
associated
with
Fortuna
as

discussed
in
Chapter
3.
The
anonymous
text,
Nasci,
pati,
mori,
plays
on
the

medieval
and
renaissance
obsession
with
cycles:
“I
was
born,
I
suffered,
I

died.”
75

Senfl’s
musical
setting
features
a
descending
motive
that
appears
in

all
voices
but
the
original
tenor
(see
musical
from
Chapter
3)
throughout
the

entire
piece.
This
is
an
extreme
case
of
text-‐painting,
except
it
illuminates
not

just
one
word
but
the
complete
cycle
of
birth
to
death
over
and
over
again.

Befitting
the
morose
attitude
of
Fortuna
desperata,
Nasci,
pati,
mori,
finds
no

comfort
in
the
cycle
nor
any
hint
of
a
chance
at
freedom
from
Fortune’s
cruel

fate.

74

Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
180.

75

Translation
by
Cumming,
“Fortuna
Revisited,”
15.

134

Passibus
ambiguis,
by
Matthias
Greiter,
has
enjoyed
a
bevy
of

examinations
from
musicologists
including
Edward
Lowinsky
who
calls
the

composition
a
“chromatic
experiment.”
76

The
setting
features
an
unusual

harmonic
treatment
of
the
tenor
which
is
first
stated
in
F
then
transposed

four
more
times
to
B-‐flat,
E-‐flat
(stated
twice),
A-‐flat
and
D-‐flat;
in
part
II
the

tenor
repeats
the
statement
on
D-‐flat
then
continues
through
G-‐flat,
and
C-‐
flat
(stated
twice),
and
ends
on
F-‐flat.
While
we
have
already
discussed
the

symbolic
presence
of
the
mutating
hexachord
in
connection
with
the
Goddess

Fortuna,
this
progressive
mutation
of
the
hexachord
is
an
unmistakable

reflection
of
the
text,
“Passibus
ambiguis
Fortuna
volubilis
errat
et
manet
in

nullo
certa
tenaxque
loco”
(changeable
fortune
roams
with
untrustworthy

steps
and
stays
fixed
and
firm
in
no
place).
77

Although
harmonic
movement

by
fifth
is
not
untrustworthy,
the
necessary
presence
of
so
many
accidentals

represents
the
series
of
“untrustworthy
steps.”

Lowinsky
suggests
that
Greiter
was
using
“emblematic
music”
as
an

inspiration
for
his
Fortuna
desperata
setting.
In
1547,
Greiter’s

contemporary,
Caspar
Othmayr
of
Amberg
published
a
collection
of
musical

settings
of
noble
mottoes.
“The
brief
motto
received
an
individual
melodic

setting
and
appears
in
the
tenor
in
exact
repetition
while
the
surrounding

76

Lowinsky,
“Greiter’s
Fortuna”,
500-‐519.

77

Translation
by
Meconi,
Thirty-six
settings,
181.

135

four
parts
were
set
to
a
text
designed
to
comment
and
elaborate
on
the

meaning
of
the
motto.”
78

Despite
our
best
efforts
to
separate
sacred
interpretations
from

secular
ones,
it
is
perhaps
a
moot
point.
“It
is
often
misguided
to
draw
an

interpretive
distinction
between
sacred
and
secular
materials
in
the
Middle

Ages
and
early
Renaissance
because
the
two
existed
within
a
single

hermeneutic
universe
and
diffused
freely
into
one
another.”
79

This
is

especially
relevant
when
examining
Fortuna
desperata
settings
as
they
relate

to
other
combinative
settings.

A
Woman
in
Distress:
Comme
femme
desconfortée

In
Honey
Meconi’s
study
of
art
song
re-‐workings,
she
establishes

compositional
families,
or
groups
of
compositions
linked
by
a
common

cantus
firmus.
Included
in
this
category
is
Fortuna
desperata
but
also
a

secular
chanson
entitled,
Comme
femme
desconfortée.
Although
there
are
no

outright
combinative
settings
using
both
Fortuna
desperata
and
Comme

femme
desconfortée,
there
are
certain
threads
linking
the
two
tunes
and

78

Lowinsky,
“Greiter’s
Fortuna,”
511.

79

Rothenberg,
Flower
of
Paradise,
5.

136

subject
matter
that
require
further
study.
The
text
was
anonymous
but
the

rondeau
was
attributed
to
Binchois.
80

Table
4.3:
Comme
femme
desconfortée
text
and
translation

Comme
femme
desconfortee
sur
toutes

aultres
esgaree,
qui
n’ay
jour
de
ma
vie

espoir
d’en
estre
en
mon
temps
consolee,

(1)
maiz
en
mon
mal
plus
agravee
desire
la

mort
main
et
soir.

Je
l’ay
tant
de
foys
regretee
puisque
ma
joye

m’est
ostee;
doy
je
donc
ainsi
remanoir
(2)

comme
femme
desconfortee
sur
toutes

aultres
esgaree,
qui
n’ay
jour
de
ma
vie

espoir.

Bien
doy
mauldire
la
journee
que
ma
mere

fist
la
portee
de
moy
pour
tel
mal
recevoir,

(3)
car
toute
douleur
assemblee
est
en
moy,

femme
malheuree,
dont
j’ay
bien
cause
de

douloir

comme
femme
desconfortee

sur
toutes
aultres
esgaree,

qui
n’ay
jour
de
ma
vie
espoir

d’en
estre
en
mon
temps
consolee,

maiz
en
mon
mal
plus
agravee

desire
la
mort
main
et
soir.

As
a
woman
discomforted,
more
than

all
others
distraught,
I
have
not
on

any
day
of
my
life
hope
of
being

consoled
at
any
time,
but
evermore

oppressed
by
my
misfortune
I
desire

death
morning
and
night.

I
have
yearned
for
it
many
times
since
it
took

my
joy
away
from
me;
must
I
then
remain
here

as
a
woman
discomforted,
more
than
all
others

distraught,
I
have
not
on
any
day
of
my
life

hope.

Well
may
I
curse
the
day
when
my
mother
bore

me
to
receive
so
much
grief,
for
all
pain
is

gathered
in
me,
unfortunate
woman,
whence
I

have
real
cause
to
grieve

as
a
woman
discomforted,
more
than
all
others

distraught,
I
have
not
on
any
day
of
my
life

hope
of
being
consoled
at
any
time,
but

evermore
oppressed
by
my
misfortune
I
desire

death
morning
and
night.
81

The
text
conjures
a
powerful
image
of
hopeless
sorrow
and
a
woman

who
is
inconsolable.
“Comme
femme
desconfortée
became
a
musical
symbol
of

the
Virgin’s
suffering,
and
it
was
quoted
in
elaborate
musical
works
that

80

See
David
Rothenberg’s
discussion
of
Comme
femme
desconfortée
and
its
attribution
in
The

Flower
of
Paradise,
193-‐194.

81

Translated
by
Peter
Woetmann
Christoffersen,
The
Copenhagen
Chansonnier
and
the

related
‘Loire
Valley’
chansonniers,
available
from

http://chansonniers.pwch.dk/CH/CH065.html;
Internet;
accessed
25
July
2012.

137

proclaim
the
redemptive
power
of
her
sorrow.”
82

There
are
at
least
ten

sacred
works
that
quote
the
Comme
femme
desconfortée
cantus
firmus
by

composers
such
as
Isaac,
Agricola,
Johannes
Ghiselin,
Josquin,
Senfl,
Pierre
de

la
Rue
and
Jheronimus
Vinders,
many
of
whom
also
wrote
Fortuna
desperata

settings.
“Although
Comme
femme
desconfortée
was
nearly
as
widely

disseminated
and
as
frequently
reworked
as
Ave
regina
caelorum
and
De
tous

biens
plaine,
its
sentiment
is
quite
different.
Rather
than
praise
the
worth
of

an
elevated
beloved,
it
gives
voice
to
a
lover’s
sorrow.”
83

The
Marian
Stabat

Mater
text
is
suspicious
similar
in
its
description
of
Mary’s
grief.
In
a

seamless
blend
of
secular
and
sacred,
Josquin
uses
the
Comme
desconfortée

cantus
firmus
in
his
Stabat
Mater
setting.
This
work,
in
turn,
inspires
Senfl
to

compose
Ave
rosa
sine
spinis,
which
is
based
on
Josquin’s
model.
However,

instead
of
highlighting
Mary’s
suffering,
Senfl
uses
a
text
that
“expands
upon

the
Ave
Maria,
emphasizing
Mary’s
sinlessness,
her
divine
motherhood,
and

calling
her
the
‘star
of
the
sea.’”
84

Isaac
composed
his
motet,
Angeli
archangeli,
based
on
the
Comme

femme
desconfortée
cantus
firmus,
in
the
1490s,
around
the
time
he
began
to

compose
Fortuna
desperata
settings.
The
symbolic
connection
between
the

82

Rothenberg,
Flower
of
Paradise,
193.

83

Ibid.,
193.

84

David
Rothenberg,
“Angels,
Archangels,
and
a
Woman
in
Distress:
The
Meaning
of
Isaac’s

Angeli
archangeli,”
The
Journal
of
Musicology
21,
no.
4
(Fall
2004):
541.

138

Virgin
Mary
and
the
Goddess
Fortuna
is
inarguable.
The
more
specific

Fortuna
desperata
text
showcases
the
unfortunate
relationship
between
a

woman
in
distress
and
the
fickle
goddess.
“In
the
text
of
Comme
femme

desconforteé,
the
narrator
takes
on
the
voice
of
a
woman
in
distress,
who

laments
her
misfortune
and
sings
of
her
desire
for
death.”
85

Before
her
death

and
Assumption,
the
Virgin
Mary
was
the
femme
desconfortée,
the
Mater

Dolorosa.
After
her
transformation
and
release
from
death,
she
becomes
the

Queen
of
Heaven,
the
maris
stella,
the
gentil
Madonna.
86

“While
it
is
highly

unlikely
that
all
re-‐workings
refer
to
the
original
lady
(whoever
she
was),

later
treatments
of
Fortuna
desperata
could
appropriately
use
this
song
to

evoke
connotations
of
any
donna
either
unfairly
treated
in
terms
of
her

reputation
or
dead
before
her
time
(or
both).”
87

It
seems
that
not
just
any

donna
became
linked
to
Fortuna
desperata,
the
archetypal
example
of

nobility
and
womanhood
was
melded
with
the
Goddess
to
create
an
even

more
complex
emblem.

Although
the
musical
symbols
associated
with
Fortuna
are
fascinating,

it
is
the
textual
associations
of
the
combinative
settings
that
provide
the

85

Rothenberg,
Angels,
526.

86

For
a
fascinating
discussion
on
the
Virgin
Mary,
the
gentil
Madonna
and
Fortuna,
see
Jaap

van
Benthem’s
article,
“Forced
into
exiles:
the
problematic
transformation
of
the
Goddess

Fortuna
into
a
‘Gentil
madonna’
(and
something
of
a
gloss
on
the
disfigured
countenance
of

‘Rosa
bella’),
Early
Music
37,
no.
2
(2009):
287-‐298.

87

Meconi,
“Poliziano,”
495.

139

more
complex
and
nuanced
understanding
of
the
Goddess
and
her

relationship
with
the
spiritual
life
of
the
Renaissance
musician.
In
the
case
of

Fortuna
desperata,
specifically,
not
only
was
the
secular
text
combined
with

sacred
ones,
her
song
was
enveloped
by
other
musical,
sometimes
sacred

sounds.
There
are
several
combinative
settings
that
have
managed
to
evade

serious
sacred
interpretation,
but
the
scale
is
certainly
tipped.
Despite
the

resurgence
of
humanist
thought
in
the
Renaissance,
it
seems
impossible
to

ignore
the
Christian
influence
on
the
pagan
goddess.
Indeed,
Howard
R.
Patch

reminds
us
that
Boethius
reinvented
the
wheel
with
“God
at
the
centre
and

Fate
at
the
rim.”
88

88

Patch,
Fortuna
Medieaval
Literature,
9.

140

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Abstract (if available)

Abstract This dissertation focuses on the symbolism of the Goddess Fortuna in the Italian song, Fortuna desperata and its re-workings. Chapter 1 presents a history of the Goddess, establishing a culture of iconography and symbolism leading up to the Renaissance. The first part of Chapter 2 discusses the song, Fortuna desperata, in detail, presenting observations on historical relevance, textual discrepancies, and song analysis. The second part of Chapter 2 addresses the Fortuna desperata re-workings and mass settings. Chapter 3 is organized as a guideline for identifying musical devices associated with symbolic aspects of the Goddess Fortuna. Chapter 4 discusses the symbolic implications associated with combinative and contrafacta texts. The study reveals a consistent pattern of musical devices and symbolic allusions associated with Fortuna.

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