Henri Potiron, The Motu Proprio and Sacred Polyphony (1954)

[38] The Motu Proprio of Pius X points out very opportunely that the only official music of the Church is Gregorian chant. It admits, however, on a secondary level, vocal polyphony, on condition that it be inspired of the same aesthetic, and it gives minute details in this regard which we shall take up later.

It proposes to us at the same time as example and model the polyphony of the Renaissance, precisely because by its style and its interpretations of the sacred texts it is very similar to Gregorian chant. This is not to state that in this immense repertoire everything is of the same perfection, even from the liturgical viewpoint. Enough masterpieces remain, however, to make the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries one of the greatest epochs as well as one of the most fecond [sic] in all musical history.

The decadence (liturgical) begins with the seventeenth century. The causes are multiple; [sic] the Gregorian traditions become more and more a lost art; the birth of dramatic art, the development of the orchestra and of symphonic forms, the spiritual concerts, the oratorio, psalms transformed into cantatas — everything contributes to a confusion of styles. I mean to say, considering the masses above all, that the music incorporated into the liturgical function overflows the framework of it, by its character, its dimensions, and often even by a certain fracas incompatible with the serenity, the peace of the official prayer of the Church.

That is so true that the style remains quite pure in the a capella compositions. In the others, the passages where the voices sing alone or with simple accompaniment still retain the nobility which is called for. Too often, however, the solos or the orchestra betray the outside influence. The music enters into the Temple; it was not born there.

[39] Always it is that this evolution brings about the mass of the spiritual concert type or cantata divided into numbers. Beyond any doubt the Mass in B minor of Bach is one of the summits of all music. It is of dazzling craftsmanship, an incomparable richness of inspiration, an ardent piety, tender and mystic, a nobility, a grandeur which no other master has surpassed; all these qualities never cease to move us at each hearing, and even in simply reading it. The proportions of the work are, however, incompatible with the celebration of the Mass itself. The division of each part into separate pieces is equally anti-liturgical. We must say the same for the Mass in D of Beethoven, another monument, where the more human sentiment is not always such as is suitable for true church music, in spite of the purity of the intentions which animate it. Besides, the orchestra plays too important a role in this instance. Although shorter, the Mass in C is not easily reconciled with the exigencies of the liturgy. As for the masses of Mozart, however admirable they may be and pious in manner, they, too, give too much importance to the orchestra and do not have the form which the texts impose on them. With lesser genius, the masses of circumstance or of contrivance of Lesueur and of Cherubini call for the same reservations . . . and some others. The Messe de Gran or the Messe hongroise du couronnement of Liszt, in spite of their strictly musical value, are in no sense church music, either.

The case of the Messe de Sainte Cecile of Gounod (1855) is much more serious. This time it is no longer a work of circumstance or concert type (at least in the thoughts of the composer). It is a work of repertoire, to the point that its success still persists. I have no need to reiterate on the genius of Gounod nor on the quality of his very sincere faith. His mass, however, is the representative type of the mass written for the Church while being at the same time anti-liturgical. The importance of the solos, the repeat of Gloria and Credo after the Celebrant, the inverted texts or added texts (the Domine non sum dignus is sung with two repeats in the course of the Agnus Dei), its general form, the somewhat sensual character of the melodic lines so particular to [40] the author, etc.—all this ought to ban this mass from our repertoires. I understand perfectly that it is religious . . . in Gounod's manner, but not in the manner of the Church. Saint-Saens says somewhere that it appeared to the musicians of the time like a brilliant stroke of lightning in the musical heavens, and this sort of admiring stupor was directed as much to the piety as to the music of the work. This opinion permits us to guess what church music must have been in 1855, in France at least.

Gounod seems to have recognized his error. He was, so to speak, converted. The evolution, already apparent in the Messe de Jeanne d'Art, was achieved in the Messe Chorale, composed for the beatification of St. Jean-Baptiste de la Salle and having for theme the intonation of Credo I. Gloria and Credo begin at the right place; the interpolations and word-shifts have disappeared; the style is more severe and often adopts the fugal form, which Gounod manages with elegance and clarity. There are, however, some lengthenings and excessive repetitions and even some platitudes in the passages of vertical writing. Shorter and yet more severe, but perhaps more dry, is the Messe de Saint Jean l'Evangeliste, published after his death (1893), which for the rest is equally very well written for the voices (the organ interludes seem useless to me; the beginning of the Gloria (Et in terra) could be sung by a single group of voices without interruption instead of being repeated in sections).

In spite of everything, this redressing is significant. A movement toward more liturgical forms was launched. I shall say nothing of the Mass for Three Voices [Messe a trois voix, in which we find Franck's famous Panis Angelicus] of Franck (1860) in which the form of the Kyrie is certainly not liturgical (two expositions for the first period, or rather ten or so Kyries strung together), in which the Gloria is indefensible by admission of Vincent d'Indy himself, and even the Sanctus with its chopping syllables at in excelsis. This was no doubt a utilitarian work written for the school of Sainte-Clotilde, but so far from the Symphony in D minor or the Beatitudes! Utilitarian, also, no doubt, are the masses of Th. [Théodore] Dubois, written with care and often quite well, but which [41] are not over-loaded with music, and in which the liturgy is not always well-respected, either.

Would the liturgical renewal have come then with the movement called "Cecilian," born in Germany about 1868? The aim was to form a modern repertoire in the ancient spirit for the use of the choral societies and adapted to all cases. An excellent commercial operation for the Ratisbon publishers, but the result was musically very mediocre. There was no dramaticism in these measures, no theatrical effect, certainly, but a dullness persisted and, except for some very rare exceptions (to the very extent that the composers rise above this beaten track), an absence of real music . . . formulas exist, nothing more. Perhaps at the epoch of Canon Witt it was excusable to supplant somewhat Gregorian chant as it was presented by the mutilated canonical editions of Pustet, and inasmuch as it was sung woodenly and without rhythm. Since the restoration of the liturgical melodies, however, the choice of this repertoire testifies to a serious indifference in regard to the official chant of the Church. If a polyphonic Kyrie must come after the Gregorian introit, the least that can be demanded of it is that it be of a quality, if not equal to that of the introit (which seems rather difficult to me), at least appreciable in the new elements it presents. In the wake of the Cecilian movement the mania for harmonization was extended to the Proper itself—the introits, the graduals . . . have been "faux-bourdonned" and collections published to this effect. Has this practice disappeared? . . . The Cecilian school wished to renew a tradition; its intentions were perhaps excellent, but it was a case of union in mediocrity. In return, at the same period, the masses of Anton Bruckner, in particular the third in E minor composed in 1869, for eight voices and woodwinds, are of an admirable composition and of a very fine religious sentiment (and even liturgical).

Interesting in quite another way were the efforts of Charles Bordes, who, at the helm of his Chanteurs de Saint-Gervais, traversed France toward the end of the last century, revealing to more than one musician the magnificent masterpieces of the Renaissance. These performances, and those [42] he gave at Paris itself had a considerable influence on the public taste. I note, too, that at each concert he directed the singing of a Gregorian piece. At a time when the Vatican edition had not yet appeared, and when we still had the editions of Rheims, Rennes or Paris . . . , interpreted God knows how, Bordes made his choice from the books of Solesmes and adopted the method of Dom Pothier. This was an excellent lesson.

To return to the compositions in the more usual sense, we must call attention to the Mass of Widor (Op. 36), anterior, I believe, to the Messe chorale of Gounod. It is, perhaps, the mass as understood from the full organ, but it is church music. It does arise from outside influences. If in the Sanctus Widor has taken some liberties with the text (easy to correct for all that) he at least does not double the intonation of the Gloria. There lies the touchstone. Certain passages attain a veritable grandeur. Much posterior (1900), the Mass of Vierne undoubtedly gives too great an importance to the full organ, but it is not a concert mass, and although certain spots seem a bit labored, (in the Benedictus mostly) the ensemble is submissive enough to liturgical exigencies. Good Theodore Dubois was converted, too. His Messe de Saint Remi (1900) respects the liturgical form; Gloria and Cerdo do not double the intonations of the celebrant. Doubtless the solo parts (of little importance, incidentally) gain by being sung by a group of voices, but in the lack of nobility, the general tone is very suitable.

In sum, since the Messe de Sainte Cecile or the Messe a trois voix of Franck, something has changed. The evolution is far from being concluded, but it has begun. It is traceable at the beginning of the 20th century.

Now it was just at that moment that the Motu Proprio appeared. It was not to determine, therefore, a sudden change in habits (so much the more as the old defections were not to completely disappear). On the other hand, the diffusion of the Solesmes editions,—and the method—, had already returned to honor the healthy Gregorian traditions. The 22nd of November, 1903, however, we have a law. Such is the profound meaning of the pontifical document.

[43] The declaration was heard, if not understood. Publishers of religious music printed in their catalogs: "Works in conformity with the Motu Proprio." Dubois wrote a Messe en si mineur for three voices, "conforming with the Motu Proprio.[1] This effort honors the man, who was always of a perfect probity. But other composers of the profession of indisputable talent seem to be ignorant of what true liturgical music should be. The Mass of Poulenc, a capella, in G major (?) is neither liturgical in form nor tone. The Gloria is repeated, there are syllables chopped into "pizzicato," sudden shadings without relationship to the text, etc., etc. It is true that there is no danger of its encumbering our repertoires, because of its extreme difficulty of performance (a great number of performers is necessary; the intonations are very ticklish; the keeping of the whole thing in ensemble makes conducting it perilous). More recently (1950), that of Bozza (Mass of His Holiness Pius XII, written in hommage [sic] to the Holy Year is the exact title), perhaps less difficult to execute, calls for the same reservations: repeats of the Gloria and Credo, superposition of the words (Kyrie and Christe), sometimes without any sense in Latin syntax, inversion of the texts, nearly four Agnus, followed by seven Amens not called for by the text! etc. Were it not for the reprise of the Gloria by the choir, the Messe des Petits a Saint-Eustache-la-Foret of Andre Caplet (the error is due simply to ignorance of the law) would pass as a model of truly religious expression. Caplet, enthusiastic for Gregorian Chant and a true musician, who died prematurely in 1925, might perhaps have given us, once informed in liturgical requirements, a perfect type of polyphonic church music. [Henri] Busser is in more than one way, a church musician. He knows the texts too well to commit the same mistakes as Bozza. Even he, however, has sometimes given in to certain habits (reprise of the Gloria in his Messe de Noel); the sound of bells "in the fields" toward the end of the Sanctus of the Mass of St. Stephen, however discreet it may be, is, do we not agree, an element forbidden by the Motu Proprio? The [44] Messe de Domremy (1949), however, presents a Kyrie of irreproachable cut. There are exactly nine invocations, three Kyrie's, three Christe's and three Kyrie's, and the Gloria is not doubled by the choir. This mass, conceived for singing out-of-doors with the accompaniment of four trumpets, is for this reason of a very individual character, but however, though somewhat brilliant, it is religious.[2]

Other composers or choirmasters, less famous, write masses for repertoire which are easier and better adapted to the average choir, for in sum, the field is left almost free to them by the great musicians. There are first of all the amateurs, in the extreme sense of the word, who know how neither to write nor to compose and have no imagination. Let's not talk about them. There are also the modern "Cecilians," writing correctly (nothing more), composing not as well, but contenting themselves with hackneyed formulas. They will tell you that the music of the Church should be impersonal. What an error! All true music is personal. Josquin is not Palestrina, and Palestrina is not Vittoria. Each has his own touch and his own expression. How was it possible to attribute to Palestrina the responses (magnificent for all that) of Ingegneri, whose style is so different from that of the Roman master? The liturgy alone has its esthetics [sic] and its framework. It is thus important that the composer interpret the texts as the Church wishes and that he not go beyond the limits of the framework. Once disciplined, however, the imagination of the musician lives its own life and is not annihilated by the role which is assigned to it. (Even a theatrical scene rests on a text and a situation. The polyphonic Mass also rests on a text, and the situation is that of the liturgical function.)

Certain choirmasters like following the ruts, that is to say, the ready-made ideas, contenting themselves with a sort of rejuvenation (if we may say so) of Cecilian music when they choose their repertoires. It doesn't disturb their habits. [45] It permits them even to add shadings of all sorts—which passes for interpretation—precisely because it is spineless and in a way invites collaboration. On the contrary, truly original music (I am not saying bizarre) is over their heads and disturbs them. They will perhaps recognized [sic] its composition, but they will refuse it any intimate expression.

There remain then, the compositions which, for sundry reasons (above all musical or primarily liturgical), are really music. Certainly there are some in France, but discretion of the most elementary type forbids me to give names and titles. There are also some in other lands: Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, etc. The desire to respect the Motu Proprio is manifest. The evolution which began toward the end of the nineteenth century and even earlier has thus expanded, encouraged and stimulated by the pontifical document.

All these efforts are, however, dispersed. We do not have a real tradition in the more noble sense of the term, or a school, as had the Renaissance and as the Cecilian movement tried to create. It cannot be a question of picking up the thread which has been cut since the seventeenth century and imitating the sixteenth. Although we may be inspired by the same general esthetics, [sic] we can no longer speak the same language. If, then, we group ourselves under the banner of the Motu Proprio, we define the type in a precise manner and we are laying the foundations for a tradition and a school.

No doubt we want our music to be pious and of catholic character, that is to say, universal. We take nothing away from the sacred texts and we add nothing to them. We respect the order of the words. We give the voice its essential role, and we do not practice excessive repetitions. But have we thought this over well: "Each part of the Mass and the Office should preserve, even from the musical point of view, the aspect and the form which ecclesiastical tradition has given them and which are found to be best expressed in Gregorian chant"?

[46] Thus, a Kyrie has nine invocations, grouped, if desired, three by three, that is, three Kyries, three Christes, three Kyries, from which we get a ternary form, with three separate invocations in each period, or three little expositions. This general plan lends itself to a magnitude of writing combinations (much as the fugue or allegro with two themes).

Gloria: sixteen invocations which the Vatican edition punctuates with sixteen periods. It is impossible to develop them separately, as this would open the affair up to intolerable length and even to the total absence of unity. In a binary framework, or ternary or four-divisioned one, they can easily be put into groups (according to the meaning and certain obvious parallelisms) as periods, in which intelligent punctuation distinguishes one from another. As for the general unity, it can only be made to jell through inspiration (and some technical processes, obviously), but the spirit moves where it will!

In the same way, three Sanctus exactly (or three little expositions), followed by Dominus Deus Sabaoth. Then two other periods: Pleni sunt and Hosanna. The Benedictus, of which the text is very short, will stand some discreet repetitions. As for the Agnus, the three periods are imposed of themselves.

These details have not always been observed in some excellent masses, and not always during the Renaissance, either. Now that we have a law, however, can we not see the advantage which composition itself should gain, not to mention the general unity of composers?

I have only discussed masses. What is more, I have only given some examples, those which were necessary for tracing this historical sketch, without exhausting the list, naturally. In regard to extra-liturgical motets, they should be well inspired by the same principles. The Tantum Ergo is, however, the liturgical part of Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. this should be two verses of a hymn as the Motu Proprio states, and not an adagio or a cavatina, followed by an allegro! Certain Genitoris resemble the final chorus of [47] an oratorio or cantata. This disparity is inadmissable [sic].

In sum, the musical form should always adapt itself to the form of the text. From this fundamental and fecond [sic] rule is born the definition of church polyphony. It should groups us, too, in obedience to pontifical authority. As for the rest, modal or tonal style, thematic unity or variety, subjects borrowed from the Gregorian repertoire or drawn from the imagination, contrapuntal style or a harmonic one, etc., etc., I admit to having my personal preferences, but it is the form, the construction, that is to say, the composition in the etymological sense, which is the most important element, perhaps, too, the most difficult to handle.

If the reader has judged by severity regarding certain works to be excessive, I have not figured to cast doubts on their musical value, sometimes very great, nor above all exclude them from our repertoires because of certain of their errors. I have wished only to confront them with the Motu Proprio (posterior to certain ones of them) in order to better clarify our present duty concerning this document which henceforth has the force of law, and, moreover, to facilitate our task and thus clarify the future.

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Footnotes:

1. It is true that later on, immediately after the war of 1914, he was to return to his first love with the Messe de la Delivrance! A mass of circumstance and even contrivance.

2. In another domain, the Quinque cantus ad benedictionem Sanctissimi Sacramenti of Florent Schmitt (1953) are not only of remarkable musicality, but also of a profoundly religious character. Unfortunately, they are not within the grasp of all choirs.

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Source: Henri Potiron, "The Motu Proprio and Sacred Polyphony," The Gregorian Review 1, no. 2 (March-April 1954): 38–47.