[8] Nature and Structure of the Pontifical Document
In order to appreciate in an objective fashion the scope of the latest pontifical document on sacred music, it is necessary, above all else, to clarify its nature, not only from the strictly jurisdictional point of view, but also from the historical point of view, taking this latter in its broadest sense, that is, by relating this document to the traditions of the past and the present situation, and to the developments which sacred music might now undergo by reason of the principles set forth by the Encyclical.
We shall limit ourselves to a study of the second aspect, after we have set forth the essential points of the recent pontifical document. From the jurisdictional point of view, we know that an Encyclical Letter is an essentially doctrinal document which the Sovereign Pontiff sends, as Doctor of the Universal Church, to the Catholic Hierarchy, in order to determine or clarify the fundamental principles which should inspire the clergy and faithful in order to resolve both old and new problems which arise in a certain area of the spiritual life. In the present case, this is in the domain of sacred music, which, as the recent Encyclical has once more confirmed and illustrated with perfect clarity, is unique among the fine arts as being the most directly related to the very center of Catholic spiritual life, the liturgy.
In contrast, a Regulation (such as those of 1884 and 1894 on the Sacred Congregation of Rites on sacred music), an Instruction (such as the Motu Proprio of St. Pius), an Apostolic Constitution (such as the Divini Cultus sanctitatem of Pius XI) all set forth with authority, although in different [9] ways and with differing degrees of jurisdictional obligation, the particular and analytical norms of essentially practical and disciplinary nature, although they may also recall and propose, as occasion demands, certain principles of a general nature, but without any precise intention of making a theory or system. It would, however, be erroneous to wish to discover in the recent Encyclical any presently-applicable [sic] norms on sacred music.
Naturally, after viewing the principles which have just been established in this way by the Encyclical, we feel a necessity for a deep and radical revision and a further elaboration and integration of musical legislation which has been in force up to now, in order that these general principles may be put into practice. But for the time being it must be on these general principles that specialists and church musicians will focus their attention. Moreover, it is on this aspect, too, that we shall concentrate in this brief commentary.
It is quite clear that the recent pontifical document, without going into the myriad details which discussion might raise, has a position of unique importance in the history of legislation dealing with sacred music. This will be either because of the form in which it was promulgated (that is, an Encyclical Letter, the most solemn and most authoritative of all pontifical documents), or because of its universality, since it was addressed to the Episcopacy of the entire Catholic world, as well as of those territories subject to a common law such as oriental or missionary, or because of the scope of the subject matter which, without, as we have said, getting to details, does touch upon the more important problems of sacred music.
Moreover, from this point of view, the Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina ranks without comparison at the top of the scale of respective values of legislative documents in this regard, being truly the first Encyclical of universal scope on sacred music. We should note in this regard that the Encyclical Annus qui of Benedict XIV, dated February 19, 1749, which, because of the extent of its subject and the erudition with which it is treated, still holds today a primacy [10] which it is not easy to surpass, remains nevertheless a document of restricted scope, since it was sent to the bishops of the Pontifical State to have them restore in their dioceses the various kinds of sacred music. This was done in view of the immanent celebration of the Holy Year of 1750, and to seek to have those abuses eliminated which had infiltrated the services and which would have scandalized pilgrims visiting the area.
Before entering the internal analysis of the Encyclical, it may be worthwhile to examine briefly its exterior form, an element which reflects the typically Roman style and mentality of the ecclesiastical Legislator.
Anyone who has followed the course of the heated discussions which have been developed for over a century in regard to sacred music, up to the lively polemics of our day, knows full well the mira varietas of the opinions and methods being promulgated by one or another group. The Encyclical, however, although presenting this mira varietas clearly (and whoever knows well enough how to read between the lines will easily find allusions, direct or indirect, to certain trends and movements), the Encyclical, we have said, places itself above the controversy and sets forth in four parts — standing like the four great pillars of a sturdy edifice of classical form — the principles which form the basis of the resolution of the varying points of view which we have noted.
Since we are here concerned with music, we might also compare this Encyclical with a great symphonic composition, which, in the course of four movements, develops with perfect mastery the proposed theme.
After the short introduction, the First Part, the first movement, if you will, is developed like an Andante, which, with boldness and power in its construction, begins with the prototype of music in God (according to the Augustinian conception, of Platonic inspiration) and, traversing a bridge as long as it is strong, arrives at the final developments within us of the divine art of sounds.
[11] The Second Part, the second "movement", is like an Adagio, in which the soul is elevated to the contemplation of the Catholic aesthetic of art in general, of sacred and religious art, and particularly of sacred music. Then, in an intensive and expressive crescendo, it arrives at the sublime aria, bordering on ecstasy, which sings of the unique dignity of sacred music and of church musicians.
The Third Part, the third movement, like a Rondo, treats successively of sacred music in its various forms, it [sic] styles and its kinds.
Finally, the Fourth Part, the fourth movement, is like an Allegro energico, which conveys the laborious rhythm of those who are called to put into practice the reform and restoration of sacred music in our day.
The Spirit Which Shapes the Encyclical; Its Thread of Continuity
The element which directly links the four parts of the Encyclical and the various developments of each part, as the soul is bound to the body, is the spirit which shapes it, and which is nothing more than the Catholic conception of art and sacred music.
We know of the unfortunate wanderings which certain systems of thought, following the opposite path of the philosophia perennis, have provoked in the domain of aesthetics in general and in that of music in particular, with the inevitable consequence in artistic production, particularly of music, in recent times.
Rejecting the necessary dependence on a transcendant [sic] principle, with the pretext of autonomy and freedom, the artist finds himself, alas, like the proverbial ship without a rudder, without the safe and sure guide which conducts his genius to a certain goal, having before him neither the North Star to guide him in his course, nor the beacon to keep him from shipwreck.
[12] All this is not freedom, but distraction, which sometimes cultivates folly and leads to the absurd. The furor of some contemporary music is proof of this.
The Encyclical, without pretending to "give laws of aesthetic or technical nature as regards the noble discipline of music", wishes rather "that it be preserved from anything that could diminish its dignity, called as it (music) is to lend its power in an area of such great importance as that of the divine cult".
Modern musicians and artists are free, then, to go and come from one experiment to the next, within the noisy bogs of the attempts to which profane art and music are currently given over.
It is quite clear, however, that the Church does not and cannot tolerate similar experiments quasi in corpore vili, in matters concerning the divine cult. Too, whereas the Church opens the doors of the temple to everything that "the genius of man has been able to create of the good and beautiful over the course of centuries, under the conditions that the liturgical laws be respected,"[1] "She must exclude from sacred music with utmost care . . . everything unsuited to the divine cult or which prevents the faithful from lifting their souls to God."[2]
This clarification which confirms and strengthens the principles of the well-known Instruction of the Holy Office on sacred art was more needed than ever before. All artists, even those not directly associated with sacred art, should be grateful to the Church, which, following the glorious tradition which has made of Her an enlightened patron of the arts, has once more shown them the true path of true art.
Positively, then, the Encyclical sets forth the principles of sacred music, clarifying its very high dignity and its supernatural end with such noble and lofty words and expressions [13] that we have probably never before been offered anything similar in a pontifical document. Moreover, I have no fear of exaggeration in saying that this passage of the Encyclical is like a Credo of sacred music and merits for that reason to be profoundly meditated upon, assimilated and professed by church musicians . . . and not only by musicians, but by all those who live in the Church.
Necessarily bound to this clarification of sacred music is the exalting of the mission of those who, in variuos ways, have devoted themselves to cultivate or promote it. "All such persons, without doubt," solemnly states the Encyclical, "truly and properly carry out an apostolate, even though in diverse and varied ways. By virtue of their office, they are not merely artists and masters, but also ministers and collaborators with Jesus Christ in the apostolate, and they must strive to manifest by their conduct the dignity of their functions."
And here we enter that element which, following the Catholic conception of art and sacred music, constitutes the unifying thread of the whole Encyclical: I mean the spiritual position of the artist and musician in regard to Religion, in relationship with those pastoral aims which sacred music in particular assumes.
"The artist who does not have faith and who is far from God in soul and in conduct," affirms the Sovereign Pontiff, "should not in any way take part in sacred art. He does not in fact possess that interior vision which would permit him to see what is required by the majesty of God and His cult. We cannot hope that his works, deprived of religious inspiration, even though they represent a man who knows his art and is amply provided with technical proficiency, will be able to breathe forth that faith and piety which are called for by the majesty of the temple of God. Consequently, neither can they be admitted by the Church, the guardian and judge of the religious life.
[14] "As for the artist whose faith is firm and life worthy of a Christian, let him follow the impulse of his love of God and religiously make us of the gifts which God has given him; let him strive to express by the colors, lines, sounds, and chants those truths which he believes and the piety which he professes, and this in a manner so accurate and acceptable that this sacred exercise may be for him an act of religion, and for the people a powerful stimulus to faith and piety."
There is, therefore, a clear and irresolvable antithesis between the worldly musician and the church musician, an antithesis which does not stem from purely aesthetic or technical reasons, since both must resolve in a similar way their aesthetic and technical problems, according to the artistic means of expression which they possess.
The antithesis is, on the contrary, entirely in the inner source of their inspiration. In the worldly artist it comes from sentiments of a more or less noble nature, but which are always human and earthly (when they are not downright carnal or sensual, or when they do not stem, as the Encyclical makes to [sic] clear, from a blind instinct which we call the estro).
The church artist, on the other hand, acts under the drive of a supernatural element, charity, or, to use the expression of the Encyclical, the love of God, Who, while He inspires and fills the soul of the musician in his human acts and his creative activity, conferes [sic] on his musical work a character and force which, beyond results due to mere technical competence and ability within the art, is conveyed by a raising to God of the soul of the composer himself and those of the faithful who hear his music.
Thus it is that a church musician who knows how to respond fully to this ascetic and mystic vocation has already within himself what he needs to create true sacred art. He already knows what must be done, without need for many rules and odious prohibitions. His route he can find himself in the inner inspiration of his heart, which is enlightened and enflamed with the infinite beauty of the divine mysteries, and which translates it into music which becomes its faithful echo.
[15] The words of St. Augustine have, then, great value for the church musician: Ama et fac quod vis. For the musician, this is the only true principle, since real music is born of charity: Cantare amantis est, and serves to increase and intensify it.
Such is the true and full freedom of the Catholic artist and church musician. This is a liberty which he can and must use to attain, first, the latreutic end of the liturgy, and then, of sacred music (the honor due God, to which will be consecrated the best which musical art can produce), but also the soteriological end (the salvation of souls, dependent on certain special suggestions by which sacred music raises the soul of the one who prays to God).
In this way, the Encyclical, although it shows the principles which should guide Catholic art and artists, also shows, so to speak, in every line, the pastoral intentions which the Church understands to be linked to sacred music.
Nova and Vetera in the Encyclical
It is with a constant eye to these profound and fruitful truths that one may and should consider certain positions of the Encyclical, which have seemed to some misdirected readers to be dictated by a certain broad point of view, not to say laxity.
The Use of Instruments
One of the most important questions concerns the use of instruments, and in particular the violin, unjustly identified with romanticism, worldliness and even sensuality.
That these last-mentioned characteristics are obviously and clearly those of a certain amount of the violin repertoire, nobody can deny. This explains why, at the beginning of the century, in a climate of antiromantic reform, severe limitations were exercised regarding the use of this instrument.
[16] No one, however, can deny a composer of sacred music, if he fully observes the ideal, of course, which the Encyclical sets, the right to use this extremely effective instrument for the expression of various sentiments of the soul, with a view toward raising his soul to God and to similarly influence the souls of the faithful. Moreover, what we can say for the violin can also be said for the other stringed instruments.
Let one merely think of certain Bach arias, and those of Handel, to certain "Sonatas of the church" of the eighteenth century, all steeped in the most profound religious sentiment.
The danger of abuses does not lie only in the expressive power of these bowed instruments, but rather in the composer and in the performer who can apply them in a profane manner. It is, therefore, above themselves, in the very source where they find their inspiration that the attention must be focused, with a seeking after an interpretation consonant with the Catholic spirit of art and music.
What we have said for the bowed instruments holds true also for the other instruments which, either alone or with the organ, according to the Encyclical, can be used in sacred music. It seemed superfluous to the Sovereign Pontiff to give a list of those which are admitted and those which are forbidden, to decide whether they may be used merely as accompaniment for the choir, or alone, although we must understand that they are always to be used according to the conditions which are applied to the use of the organ. All these questions and other decisions or classifications of exterior character have no meaning for the church musician, since he, if he is a real church musician, will certainly know well enough himself when and how to use the means which musical art and technique, even the most modern, have placed at his disposition for the creation of true sacred art. In this regard I think of the Mass of E Minor of Anton Bruckner, written for choir and brass orchestra, which, in spite of the means employed, provides us with a real masterpiece of authentic religious art, which, according to some authorities, can be ranked with the Missa Papae Marcellae of Palestrina.
[17] On the other hand, a mere conformity to certain rules and prohibitions regarding instruments, including the organ, does not guarantee at all that religious inspiration will come, although it is this very inspiration which is vital for the creation of real sacred music. To this extent it is true, even in this field of endeavor, that Spiritus est qui vivificat; littera autem occidit.
Mixed Choirs
In the same way we find the question of mixed choirs discussed here. They are permitted by the Encyclical when the male scholae cantorum or choirs, or the Pueri Cantores are either totally lacking or weak in numbers. This concession is not new. It goes back to St. Pius X, who approved the generally equivalent decree of the Sacred Congregation of Rites in this matter, a decree which is now incorporated by the Encyclical.
We all know the regulations of liturgical, moral and aesthetic nature against the singing of women in church, and these prescriptions are still held valid by the Encyclical. In this light, mixed choirs are merely a substitute for the usual scholae cantorum and the Pueri Cantores, who are the only real liturgical choirs given an official function.
But between the elimination of all singing in church (and, consequently, of the solemn liturgy) due to a lack of male choirs or boys choirs, and the tolerance, with the precautions which are imposed, of the use of mixed choirs (which are considered as being the people or a segment of the congregation which fills in the lack of male singers), and also to maintain, in general, the living tradition of the singing in Church, the Sovereign Pontiff, following the footsteps of St. Pius X, has chosen this second solution, which, without involving a matter of principle, nevertheless resolves a practical problem of great importance, and thus saves, by guaranteeing singers, the general principle of the special force which music brings to bear on the divine services and on the piety of the faithful.
[18] In fact, the schola cantorum and the usual male choir, as a matter of principle, must always be given their traditional and glorious primacy in the liturgical and artistic domain, even though, alas, we must deplore not only the small number of male choirs, but also their decline of liturgical spirit and even of their artistic standards, both of which are the consequences of complex causes for the exposition of which there is no space here.
The decrease in these scholae and their decadence have providentially called forth the vast movement of Pueri Cantores who, by themselves or with a few men's voices, maintain intact the role of the cantor, holder of a real liturgical rank, and on the artistic side, they can attain a standard of excellence similar to that of the schola or male choir.
Yet, wherever circumstances do not provide these means, mixed choirs, well-trained and capably directed, can substitute for the liturgical choir and attain, on the artistic plane, very fine results.
The Burning Question of Liturgical Language
A similar approach is made to the subject of the liturgical language. Nearly everybody has followed the well-known arguments which, particularly in recent years, have been given prominence in this respect in books, articles, speeches and the like.
On one hand the need (which there can be no question of challenging) for the unity and the universality of the liturgy requires a unity and universality of language, that of the tradition. On the other hand, the pastoral concern to enable the faithful to live the reality of the divine mysteries, not only in referring themselves implicitly to the intentions of the celebrant, but also in participating in the liturgy individually and explicitly taking the proper role, this concern, we say, has brought about a keen awareness of the need for a liturgical language accessible to the faithful and not merely to the celebrant.
[19] On these two aspects of the question much has been written and said, sometimes with a passionate partisanship which approaches fanaticism.
The Encyclical, with a characteristically Roman clarity and serenity, has gathered and blended the two opposing points of view in a beautifully balanced way, a way which suffices, or should suffice, to calm the apprehensiveness of the partisans of both camps.
All taken into account, the Encyclical maintains the principle of unity and universality of the liturgical language. Then, while tolerating contrary practices which were born of historical circumstances which were special to certain locations, or under special conditions, at least in those cases where these contrary practices could not be prudently eleminated [sic], the Encyclical opposes at the same time that such customs be introduced in new areas. Moreover, in the very areas where these contrary practices are tolerated the Ordinaries of the dioceses are exhorted to promote the use of Gregorian chant, indissolubly linked to the use of Latin, among the faithful, in order that they "learn from infancy at least the easier Gregorian melodies and those most used, and know how to use them in the liturgical ceremonies, so that in this way, too, the unity and universality of the Church may ever be more greatly manifested."
The conclusion of all this is that the principle of using Latin as the liturgical language is clearly affirmed, and that the integral putting into practice of this principle is demanded, even in those places where, for special reasons, it has previously been de-emphasized.
And it is very right that this should be so from the standpoint of principle, for without entering into the many reasons of opportunity or convenience, who, then, is it who performs the holy liturgy, to use the terms of the Encyclical Mediator Dei, if not the sacred Hierarchy, whose own language is rightfully that of the Church, namely Latin?
[20] On the other hand, full satisfaction is granted to pastoral concerns regarding the active participation of the faithful in the holy mysteries. The faithful can today be better trained than in the past, and can be instructed by liturgical catechetics, oral as well as written. This is what the Encyclical explains so well, drawing upon the teaching of the Fathers of the Council of Trent, who had to resolve in their day, under conditions much more difficult than those of today, the problem of the unity of liturgical language and that of the participation of the faithful in the holy liturgy.
Popular Hymnody
Where, on the other hand, the Encyclical has left to the people, and thus to the vernacular tongue, which is properly that of the people, a wide field of action is in popular hymnody, on which the Sovereign Pontiff spends a certain length of time, and at more than one insistence, with an urgency and particular care, an indication of the fine and unerring pastoral awareness of Pius XII.
He had already touched upon this subject in the Encyclical Mediator, which, it should be said for history, was the first instance of such treatment in a pontifical document, and what is more, in an Encyclical.
But in the Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina we find a real treatise on popular hymnody, religious and sacred, for all geographical areas.
Religious Music
No one will be surprised to find that religious music of a sort not designed for the liturgy should have merited a discussion in a solemn pontifical document. It is a matter of a mere mention, to tell the truth, but yet it suffices to define this kind of music which, in parallel to sacred music, can exercise a great and beneficial influence over the souls of the faithful. This is the very pastoral concern of which we have just spoken.
[21] Yet the Encyclical has thus determined the principle upon which can then be based the entire task of regulation. This is an indication of a remarkable comprehension toward the composer, who today is turning with more and more fervor to this kind of music. It is also a comprehension toward the people, who understand with increasing sympathy these compositions of religious nature. It is manifested by this opening of a path to more fruitful accomplishments in this domain, not merely, and perhaps not so much in the artistic sense as in the spiritual sense, and, we repeat, the pastoral sense. This is certainly the main aspect under which the Encyclical mentions religious music, "which although it is not designed principally for the service of the holy liturgy, nevertheless conveys many desirable features to religion through its content and its aims."
The Encyclical in its Historical Aspects
More complex and delicate (and in certain ways, perhaps even premature), is the examination of the Encyclical in its historical aspects.
No doubt in relationship with the tradition of the recent past, the new Pontifical document marks a decisive development in the interest which the Holy See has taken in music in general, and especially in contemporary music.
We not mean to imply that the new Encyclical constitutes an antithesis of the Motu Proprio (which, of course, it reaffirms as the document which St. Pius X has justly called the "juridical code of sacred music"); nor do we imply that it represents a revolution in the secular tradition of the Church in this matter, synthesized by the "norms wisely established by St. Pius X", which are the very terms of the Encyclical. But Pius XII, with the intention of confirming and inculcating these norms still further, proposes to give them also "a new light, to corroborate them by new reasonings," and this is where we find a new accent in pontifical teaching,—"in order that this very noble art of sacred music, conforming to new requirements and enriched in a certain [22] manner, may continually respond more fully to its purpose." From this we can see clearly enough that where the Motu Proprio, in order to accomplish a reform of sacred music, which at that time was deeply contaminated by theatrical music, may have seemed reactionary to some persons (particularly in the severity of criteria which some of its interpreters thought wise to adopt and in the polemic virulence of certain reformers), the Encyclical Musicae sacrae, beginning with the results achieved in fifty years of reform under the aegis of St. Pius X and his famous document on sacred music, can today give directives inspired by a broader and more realistic perspective, provided the legislator by the absence or near absence of any danger of misemphasis.
Naturally this greater serenity and tranquility is completely to the advantage of sacred art and the artist, who today feels really free of any exterior constraints and any odious prohibitions or restrictions, free to follow only the suggestions of his inner inspiration, enlightened and strengthened by Caritas.
And it is in this full freedom of the Catholic artist that we find the first and inexhaustible source of the renewal of sacred music as an art, fifty years after the reform of St. Pius X, which, although it had the unquestionable value of restoring to the music which was to be performed in church its original sacred character, did not, with few exceptions build and expand upon the glorious musical tradition of the Catholic Church according to the splendid example of classic polyphony.
It is a fact which we can deplore as much as we like, but which we cannot deny, that the great lay musicians of our day take little real interest in liturgical music as exemplified during the last fifty years. They show it only indifference except when they are openly hostile to a certain kind of music which passes for liturgical art although it is not at all artistic, even though artistic value is one of the essential qualities of the liturgy, and in that sense, of sacred music. Except for the works of certain composers, who, moreover, have made their best and most abundant contribution in the [23] domain of general religious music rather than in that of sacred music, liturgical music or extra-liturgical music, except for these, we say, all the rest, generally speaking, although they are not lacking in quantity, certainly do not shine in the power of their inspiration, the newness or freshness of their language or the strength of their construction.
thus two currents can be perceived which, besides being divergent in their means and their aims, are also composed of elements which are completely different from each other in both quantity and quality.
One of these currents is formed by a legion of persons, mostly clergy and religious, motivated by the highest intentions and desirous of creating sacred music, but almost always without artistic talent or technical preparation, or lazily wallowing in the quagmires of hackneyed styles.
The other current is formed of a small number of great lay musicians who have achieved honor and continue to do so both here and abroad, but who have turned their backs on church music.
Some people have thought it logical to blame this state of affairs, which is a sign of decadence, on the Motu Proprio of St. Pius X, since in that famous document modern music was viewed with a manifest spirit of opposition. Was it not, they said, unavoidable from that standpoint that the great musicians of the day would feel rejected from the Church and left only to the more worldly fields of action?
In reality the very opposite has been the case. It was the great musicians of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries who, drawn by the seduction of romantic opera, brought into even the music of the Church the spirit and forms of the theater. It was, then, entirely natural that the Church should react against this serious contamination of a basically moral, but also artistic nature. This is particularly true, since all kinds of music require their proper forms, just as every person, according to the idea or feeling that he senses, requires a facial expression in accord with it, a demeanor and gestures proper to him, and a personal way of dressing.
[24] In truth, in his Motu Proprio St. Pius X, as we have already said, reasserts, in regard to modern sacred music, the constant principle by which "the Church has always recognized and favored progress in the arts, admitting to the service of the cult everything that the genius of man has been able to create as good and beautiful over the course of centuries, under the condition that the liturgical laws be respected. [sic] "Consequently" he continued, "the most recent modern music is also admitted to the church, for it, too, provides compositions whose value, soberness and gravity make them worthy in every respect of the liturgical functions." This recognition seems to have been addressed to German sacred music of the time rather than to Italian music, which, in contrast was the object of the following serious admonition: "Nevertheless, because of the worldly use for which modern music is principally intended, we must take the most extreme care in selecting musical compositions in modern style; only those which contain no profane utterance, include no reminiscence or motifs common to the theater, and which in no way convey, even in their exterior forms, the general cast of worldly pieces, may be admitted to the churches."
Without wishing to establish the respective responsibilities, we must recognize that the chasm opened between the ordinary musicians and the people of the Church by the Motu Proprio of St. Pius X is not only still unspanned, but it is continually growing wider.
To fill this gap and eliminate it seems to me to be the first and essential objective of the Encyclical Musicae sacrae disciplina.
No compromise, of course, can be made between the liturgy and profane art, and consequently, musicians who have the intention of writing for the church and who truly wish to create sacred art cannot continue, obviously, to treat the paths of worldly music in general, and of operatic music in particular, but should instead turn to the liturgy and draw inspiration from it, since it is the inexhaustible source, always rich and varied.
[25] Fortunately, the direction of the present evolution of music and the trends it seems to be taking are favorable to this change of direction. The operatic style which dominated almost exclusively the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century, drawing to it with an irresistible force of fascination great musicians of that epoch, is today in decline. For the romantic and naturalistic aesthetic has been substituted a kind of antiromanticism. Constructional strength has taken the place of melodic languor and impressionistic color. Harmony has become polytonal, atonal and dodecaphonic. A profound change marks today's music. Moreover, although we have not, any more than at any other evolutionary phase in the history of art, arrived at definitive results, at works of art which are of universal and positive value, it is nevertheless certain that contemporary musicians do not dwell on the past, do not glance behind them, and in no way do they hesitate to advance from the old styles more and more rapidly and deliberately. The curtain has fallen with finality on the day of theater music camouflaged as sacred music, except for a few church composers . . . we do not call them musicians . . . who think they can create something new by re-issuing the old lyrico-sacred compositional formulas, long sine rejected by the musical world in general.
Is it, then, possible in this climate of change to fill in and eliminate the deplorable gap which separated artists from the liturgy? The affirmative answer is given by Pius XII, who wrote even in the Encyclical Mediator Dei these clear words which seem to me to be directly addressed to those who, in the name of a blind loyalty to Gregorian and Palestrinian tradition had ostracized contemporary sacred music: "One cannot, however, maintain," warned the Pontiff, "that modern music and singing should be totally excluded from Catholic worship. On the contrary, provided that such music contains nothing profane or improper, in consideration of the sanctity of the place and the sacred services, and provided that it does not seek after bizarre or uncalled-for effects, it is indispensable that we give it entree to our churches for it can greatly contribute to the magnificence of the cere-ceremonies [sic] as well as to the raising of souls to a true devotion and piety."
[26] The presupposed and indispensable psychological condition for the creation of discussion, first, then a unity and collaboration between musicians and churchmen is, for the latter group, based on a disposition tending to break down the instinctive attachment to a tradition which is bound together with a deeply-rooted rejection of everything new; it is also in a disposition to take a sincere interest in and seeking to understand the new forms and new vocabulary of the musicians today, to have confidence in them, to accept their works with a warm sympathy and heartfelt humility, for it is not easy to assimilate and evaluate a new mode of expression in sacred music at first hearing, or even after a few hearings.
Simply put, we must persuade ourselves of the fact that art is made by artists. What seems at first glance to be a simple truth is in reality not so easy to grasp, for there are many people who think they can solve the problem of sacred music without the effort of a real artist-musician. These people, however, must bring into their music the required mental and spiritual dispositions, if they wish to create sincere sacred music, without bringing in new contaminations which would be as detrimental to the liturgy as to art.
The situation in religious music (designed for concert rather than church) is and has been less critical. Consequently it is less difficult to achieve a meeting of minds on this subject and to bring about the desired entente between musicians and churchmen.
But there is a danger which must be seen and guarded against from both sides: that musicians give preference to religious music and neglect sacred music, liturgical music and extra-liturgical music (we mean, of course, by "religious music", that music not designed for church use, but based on religious texts, themes or concepts). There is a strong temptation for the musician, since he enjoys a greater liberty of expressions, means and themes in non-liturgical religious music. He obtains greater moral and material rewards, totally incomparable to those he draws, at least under present conditions, from music designed for the liturgy or extra-liturgical [27] services. On the other hand, the churchman has a deep responsibility, because he, through lack of understanding of the artistic and material requirements of the musician, places him in a position where he must neglect liturgical and extra-liturgical music and devote himself exclusively, or nearly so, to non-liturgical religious music.
To maintain a suitable balance between sacred music and religious music is, above all, a question for the profound and fecund vision of both composers and the Church. It is obvious that in addition to the central problem of the unification and collaboration of the great musicians of our day and the churchmen, other problems exist, some large, some small, some theoretical, some practical, which await a similar discussion and at least a gradual resolution.
To note only a few of the more urgent of these, let us mention the economic conditions of composers, choirmasters and organists; the problem of the reconstitution of Scholae cantorum, choirs and choral groups; that a more deserving freedom in the use of vocal and instrumental means proper to contemporary art in sacred music; that of performance, even in church . . . of course, without improper aspects and with the necessary precautions . . . of non-liturgical religious music. There are as many unresolved problems as those already covered in the Encyclical Musicae sacrae.
The important thing is that the Church become once more, as she was in the past, the great sponsor and noble propagator of art in general, and music in particular, since it is in the church, the House of God, but also our own house, that the people, without distinction of class or background, or any other distinctions, in other words, all the people can be trained day after day by the slow but effective action of that great master of truth, beauty and goodness, Art.
Let us return to the Motu Proprio of St. Pius X. In much the same way that writing emphasized the first quality of sacred music, i.e., sanctity, today the Encyclical Musicae sacrae of Pius XII emphasizes the second quality of sacred music, which is its artistic value . . . not neglecting the first [28] quality, of course, but in demanding not only an objective value in the music itself, but also and particularly a subjective value for the church musician.
Then, since, as St. Pius X affirms and Pius XII confirms, the third quality of sacred music, namely universality, proceeds naturally from the sanctity and artistic value of the form, if the contemporary artists know how to grasp and put into practice the message of the recent Encyclical, sacred music will become, for the Catholic Church, a splendid apologia for our faith, similar to the manifestation produced in the middle ages with Gregorian Chant, and in the Renaissance with vocal polyphony, organ music and instrumental music.
---
Footnotes:
1. Motu Proprio of St. Pius X, November 22, 1903.
2. Encyclical Musicae Sacrae
---
Source: Msgr. Fiorenzo Romita, "The Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina," The Gregorian Review 4, no. 4 (July-August 1957): 8–28.
Thursday, November 7, 2019
Cold Facts on the Congregational Singing of Gregorian Chant (1956)
[11] An article which proposes to set forth "cold" facts on anything should maintain some flavor of objectivity and impersonal evaluation. This is not always easy for a musician. In an art which lies so completely outside the descriptive and analytical power of words, those few basic concepts which are conveyable in everyday language are adhered to by their partisan upholders with what amounts to sheer fanaticism. We are all subject to such attachments, whether or not we wish to be. When we hear two other persons arguing over the respective merits of two opposing points of view, we may not wish to make a black-and-white decision ourselves, but the very awareness of the opposition starts our mental machinery in motion, whether we wish it or not. We may try to defer a decision or opinion, but out intellectual curiosity and that inner compulsion to grapple with indecision drives us to select at least a temporary position.
Thus it is that composers are still fighting the battle over the admission of consecutive fifths to contemporary harmonic progressions, the discarding of the concept of traditional tonality in favor of other means of achieving large-form unity, the selection of keys in compositions which admit the notion of key-sense, and countless other ideas. Church musicians fight about the admission of solo singing, the use of the organ to accompany chant, the role of contemporary music in liturgical services, and . . . congregational singing.
It is very hard not to be swept into one camp or another by the ardor of the partisans. At times the dust of rhetoric is so thick that the music is almost lost sight of. It is, therefore, with a perfect realization of the consequences that we approach the point of this writing.
[12] I. Congregational Participation
At the outset we are obliged to discuss a question which has been settled quite clearly for all reasonable musicians who have studied the matter, but for which the tenacity of die-hards requires a brief and pointed comment.
Rome, following traditional patterns and the historical verity of all liturgical worship in all rites, eastern and western, has stated clearly in many cases and from general principle that congregational participation in the singing of the liturgy is a desirable and functionally correct goal. Logic and history assign to the people the singing of the Ordinary parts of the services, leaving the Propers to the musicians of the choir. It is obvious that the simple responses at Mass and in the Office can be handled by a devout congregation with a minimum of training. The stumbling block seems to be the singing of the more extended parts of the Ordinary, particularly at Mass.
A short time ago, this writer published an article on this question in the official organ of the Vernacular Society of America, Amen (November, 1955). The response to this article demonstrated with unquestionable directness that there is a minority of our first-rank church musicians which refuses to accept the notion that congregational singing of the Ordinary is more in accord with the basic plan of the liturgy than the use of rich polyphonic settings which give the entire role to the choir. The attitude in this minority group is, in general, that the polyphonic ordinary, although it removes the possibility of congregational singing, provides music which is just as fine and liturgically suitable as any which another arrangement could conceivable [sic] supply.
We cannot question the fact that the great settings of Palestrina, Lassus, Vittoria, and their contemporaries are among the finest music ever written by man, bar none. This is augmented by the undeniable acceptance of these settings as spiritually, textually and proportionally in accord with the nature of the liturgy they enhance.
[13] It is also true, however, that certain parts of the Ordinary were delegated to the congregation from the earliest days of the church. This is proved by references in the early Ordos and writings of the Fathers. Not all the Ordinary was usually sung by the congregation, however. Local variants in liturgical practice, as well as the late introduction of items such as the Credo require us to admit that different customs held forth in different lands and times. The principle of congregational participation is, however, clearly established. It is doubtful that anyone today could deny the general principle from a historical point of view.
From the contemporary point of view, the matter is even less doubtful. We are not bound to observe all the events of history as models for our blind imitation. The general principles are valid, but the working out must be achieved in terms which bear on our own times and which utilize our present-day means. The principle of congregational participation is valid. Its application may be different today, however, from its application in the middle ages.
In some churches in medieval times the congregation sang very little. Certain parts, such as the Kyrie, were intended to be variable in length to adapt to the action of the Mass. The schola sang these parts, therefore, since no congregation could be depended on to achieve the timing which was called for. The action could be interrupted after five Kyries, ten, or even twenty. The schola, alert and adaptable, handled the matter in most instances. The Gloria was usually sung by all present, but it was not always sung in all churches. The Credo was not used in any consistent fashion until a fairly late day . . . a time, moreover, when congregational participation was on the decline and the use of early polyphony on the rise. The Agnus Dei was not originally part of all Latin rites and only became established with the enforced application of the Roman rite to the entire western Church.
Today the Roman rite enjoys unprecedented uniformity in both application and practice. The intercommunication of the remotest corners of the world and the administrational [14] center at Rome make it possible to extend knowledge and techniques almost at will. Phonograph records and other pedagogical devices make available to persons in the most inaccessible areas the knowledge which is the fruit of the best minds of many generations. This means that we have at hand the knowledge and techniques which will enable the principle of congregational singing to be extended to a fuller application than would have been possible a few centuries ago. We have no right, then, to point at history with all its inconsistencies as the reason for adopting an indifferent attitude toward congregational singing.
The recent encyclical Sacrae Musicae Disciplina was seized upon by both proponents and opponents of the advancement of congregational singing as being an official sanction of their respective points of view. This merely proves once more that enthusiasm can interpret even the clearest statement with a coloration of personal viewpoints. Rome recognizes the propriety of both polyphonic settings of the Ordinary and congregationally designed ones. There is no reason to assume that this is equivalent to taking a dim view of the idea of congregational singing. Recognizing the value of polyphony is a practical attitude in the light of present unpreparedness for widespread congregational singing.
We wish to make a point of stating here that we are not discussing vernacular singing during Low Mass or similar functions. We are concerned with congregational singing of the High Mass, restricted by law to Latin.
II. The Nature of Participation
Some of those who do not wish to sacrifice their elaborate polyphonic masses to congregational participation hold that the word participation can have a broader meaning than is commonly accepted. They maintain that intelligent listening can be considered as participation of a sort.
This is true. It is, nevertheless, begging the question, for we are concerned with whether or not the congregation should participate in the singing, not merely the listening. To say that a congregation that habitually listens to the fine singing of a good choir is participating in the liturgy in the commonly accepted sense is simply not true. There are parts, such as the Gradual, the Alleluia, the Offertory, which are extended, meditative compositions, calling for attentive listening by congregation and those clergy on the altar who are permitted by their functions to listen. These are the very parts, however, which the average polyphonic choir will sing to some abridged formula in order to get to a more elaborate motet. This is an unfortunate commentary on the attitude of our "liturgical" choirmasters.
Many choirmasters insist that the congregation which has been given the short responses to sing is fulfilling its assigned role. This meager sop to the conscience will not do. This would reduce the role of the congregation to less than what would have been the norm in most medieval churches, according to our best information. In the light of what is possible today, we cannot admit that the silent congregations of recent years come anywhere near the humblest efforts of the middle ages. We have not only the means to do better; we have the obligation.
III. Congregational Music
Much verbiage has been expended on the nature of the music which is to be given to the congregation. A large segment of our professional musicians and liturgists are in favor of passing by the Gregorian repertoire in favor of something less "strange" to the layman's ear. Chant, with its free rhythm, its modality and its characteristic neume-groups seems, to these people, to be too much for the average man-on-the-street to grasp.
It is true that one cannot begin immediately on a program of full and varied chant Ordinaries, but the difficulties involved are largely illusions in the mind of the musician. This may seem to be paradoxical, for at first reflection, we would think that the professional musician would find the chant easiest, and the completely inexperienced and untrained layman find it most difficult. This does not happen to be true.
[16] Most of the difficulties which appear to the musician are involved with preparation for learning and singing the chant. The approach to some of the chants of the Ordinary will require serious study, reflection and familiarization, all of which takes time and effort. This leaves an impression of general difficulty on the average choirmaster which will color his approach to teaching chant to a congregation. What he does not see at first is that the chant is taught the congregation by rote, not by note, and that his own careful rendition of the chant as a model for imitation will be the best guarantee of sound congregational singing. The most important elements of the performance: style, tempo, articulation, phrasing — these are not matters of deciphering notation, because they surpass the power of notation to express them. They must be soundly prepared by the group which is to exemplify the chant for the congregational imitation. Then they will be transmitted as integral elements of the music the congregation will learn.
Some choirmasters maintain that the rhythmic difficulties of the chant will cause trouble at the outset. They say that the free alternation of groups of two and three, the various long notes (pressus, oriscus, etc.) and the placing of the rests will be too difficult to learn. This is not so. The congregation does not have to learn the technical differences and distinctions in Gregorian theory in order to sing. It does not have to learn 18th century counterpoint in order to sing a Bach chorale. Natural human musicality, mimicry and mnemonics will enable any average group to learn the music of a chant Ordinary in a relatively short time.
If a choirmaster pleads that his congregation sings chant badly, we can only tell him that he must supply a better quality to be imitated.
IV. Modern Music
We cannot overlook the possibility that our contemporary composers can provide music of liturgical character and [17] congregational design. The principal problem here, of course, is quality of the music, as most of our contemporary church composers already understand the basic principles of congregational style, the populo parts of liturgical compositions, the proportional limits of the music which must be sung within the Mass schedule, etc. It would be entirely unfair and regressive to wish to exclude the better contemporary efforts from practice in our churches.
We must recognize, however, the small proportion of high-quality music to the enormous amount produced and marketed. Here, as elsewhere, all that glitters is certainly not gold. Much has been written to serve the liturgy which is not of a standard worthy of its intent.
Unfortunately, the congregation is largely at the mercy of one or two persons in regard to choice of music. Frequently our choirmasters select the somewhat neutral ground of the "people's mass", a type of composition which fills an important role in developing congregational singing of the Ordinary, as the basis for initationg [sic] work in that direction. This kind of music is useful, but it should be supplanted by something better as soon as possible. In many instances it would be possible to go to better music at the very outset.
At a recent informal session held at the McLaughlin and Reilly rehearsal hall in Boston during the 1956 NCMEA convention, the question of contemporary musical trends was made the object of discussion, inquiry and serious listening. A number of important composers were present, and the group of participants in the discussion included both conservatives and the avant-garde. The general attitude seemed to be one of respect for contemporary efforts to bring into the scope of church music those technical developments of our day which have been accepted in serious music outside the church. This respect ranged from simple efforts toward broad-mindedness to full enthusiasm. It would seem then, from the cross-section of church musicians of all types who evinced interest in this discussion, that our contemporary church music is beginning to rise above the sterility of the [18] Caecilian school to something with more positive qualities to recommend it. This is a beginning, and when enough music of this kind has been written and sung, we may legitimately hope to find a few masterpieces taking their places in the repertoire of our times.
At the present writing, however, the great corpus of congregationally suitable music is that of chant. Not enough contemporary music is known or sung to establish any works as "standard" or "classical" for liturgical use. The liturgical music program, then, in adapting to the needs of congregational participation, must consider chant to be the first source of material, and this is true in the large parish as much as in the small one.
V. Conclusions
To those who have tried the experiment, the use of chant congregationally is no doubtful matter, providing the training of the choirmaster has been sufficient to reproduce the chant style accurately and artistically. For those who remain in doubt, we may point to the example of France, where, although barren areas exist, the fruit of years of work and training is beginning to produce singing congregations who perform the chant with fervor and artistry. The author has had the happy experience of working with one such congregation which knew a number of chant settings by heart, so that once the choir had begun the Kyrie, the people followed on to the end of the mass with their own enthusiastic and full-voiced singing.
Many of the difficulties met with by the average choirmaster should be attributed to his own inadequacies, not to the inability of the congregation to handle chant. Unless such purely fundamental notions as the elementary rhythm, the compound rhythm, the articulation of consonants (a very important part of chant style in the Solesmes method), the soft attack of the word-final ictus, the thetic crescendo which often links two incises, the deliberate broadening of movement when the melody leaps, the avoidance of haste in descending passages . . . unless all these are an assimilated [19] unit in the subconscious of the choirmaster, he will not succeed in making the congregation enjoy its participation and sense its artistic role.
Only by having confidence in the work undertaken can a choirmaster reach his goal, and this applies to the development of congregational singing. No half-way measures will do . . . no "gradual" education of the people. A strong and direct program will bear fruit, whereas uncertainty and mental reservations will produce only failure. Good intentions are not enough, of course, but given everything else, their lack will make success impossible.
---
Source: J. Robert Carroll, "Cold Facts on the Congregational Singing of Gregorian Chant," The Gregorian Review 3, no. 8 (May-June 1956): 11–19.
Thus it is that composers are still fighting the battle over the admission of consecutive fifths to contemporary harmonic progressions, the discarding of the concept of traditional tonality in favor of other means of achieving large-form unity, the selection of keys in compositions which admit the notion of key-sense, and countless other ideas. Church musicians fight about the admission of solo singing, the use of the organ to accompany chant, the role of contemporary music in liturgical services, and . . . congregational singing.
It is very hard not to be swept into one camp or another by the ardor of the partisans. At times the dust of rhetoric is so thick that the music is almost lost sight of. It is, therefore, with a perfect realization of the consequences that we approach the point of this writing.
[12] I. Congregational Participation
At the outset we are obliged to discuss a question which has been settled quite clearly for all reasonable musicians who have studied the matter, but for which the tenacity of die-hards requires a brief and pointed comment.
Rome, following traditional patterns and the historical verity of all liturgical worship in all rites, eastern and western, has stated clearly in many cases and from general principle that congregational participation in the singing of the liturgy is a desirable and functionally correct goal. Logic and history assign to the people the singing of the Ordinary parts of the services, leaving the Propers to the musicians of the choir. It is obvious that the simple responses at Mass and in the Office can be handled by a devout congregation with a minimum of training. The stumbling block seems to be the singing of the more extended parts of the Ordinary, particularly at Mass.
A short time ago, this writer published an article on this question in the official organ of the Vernacular Society of America, Amen (November, 1955). The response to this article demonstrated with unquestionable directness that there is a minority of our first-rank church musicians which refuses to accept the notion that congregational singing of the Ordinary is more in accord with the basic plan of the liturgy than the use of rich polyphonic settings which give the entire role to the choir. The attitude in this minority group is, in general, that the polyphonic ordinary, although it removes the possibility of congregational singing, provides music which is just as fine and liturgically suitable as any which another arrangement could conceivable [sic] supply.
We cannot question the fact that the great settings of Palestrina, Lassus, Vittoria, and their contemporaries are among the finest music ever written by man, bar none. This is augmented by the undeniable acceptance of these settings as spiritually, textually and proportionally in accord with the nature of the liturgy they enhance.
[13] It is also true, however, that certain parts of the Ordinary were delegated to the congregation from the earliest days of the church. This is proved by references in the early Ordos and writings of the Fathers. Not all the Ordinary was usually sung by the congregation, however. Local variants in liturgical practice, as well as the late introduction of items such as the Credo require us to admit that different customs held forth in different lands and times. The principle of congregational participation is, however, clearly established. It is doubtful that anyone today could deny the general principle from a historical point of view.
From the contemporary point of view, the matter is even less doubtful. We are not bound to observe all the events of history as models for our blind imitation. The general principles are valid, but the working out must be achieved in terms which bear on our own times and which utilize our present-day means. The principle of congregational participation is valid. Its application may be different today, however, from its application in the middle ages.
In some churches in medieval times the congregation sang very little. Certain parts, such as the Kyrie, were intended to be variable in length to adapt to the action of the Mass. The schola sang these parts, therefore, since no congregation could be depended on to achieve the timing which was called for. The action could be interrupted after five Kyries, ten, or even twenty. The schola, alert and adaptable, handled the matter in most instances. The Gloria was usually sung by all present, but it was not always sung in all churches. The Credo was not used in any consistent fashion until a fairly late day . . . a time, moreover, when congregational participation was on the decline and the use of early polyphony on the rise. The Agnus Dei was not originally part of all Latin rites and only became established with the enforced application of the Roman rite to the entire western Church.
Today the Roman rite enjoys unprecedented uniformity in both application and practice. The intercommunication of the remotest corners of the world and the administrational [14] center at Rome make it possible to extend knowledge and techniques almost at will. Phonograph records and other pedagogical devices make available to persons in the most inaccessible areas the knowledge which is the fruit of the best minds of many generations. This means that we have at hand the knowledge and techniques which will enable the principle of congregational singing to be extended to a fuller application than would have been possible a few centuries ago. We have no right, then, to point at history with all its inconsistencies as the reason for adopting an indifferent attitude toward congregational singing.
The recent encyclical Sacrae Musicae Disciplina was seized upon by both proponents and opponents of the advancement of congregational singing as being an official sanction of their respective points of view. This merely proves once more that enthusiasm can interpret even the clearest statement with a coloration of personal viewpoints. Rome recognizes the propriety of both polyphonic settings of the Ordinary and congregationally designed ones. There is no reason to assume that this is equivalent to taking a dim view of the idea of congregational singing. Recognizing the value of polyphony is a practical attitude in the light of present unpreparedness for widespread congregational singing.
We wish to make a point of stating here that we are not discussing vernacular singing during Low Mass or similar functions. We are concerned with congregational singing of the High Mass, restricted by law to Latin.
II. The Nature of Participation
Some of those who do not wish to sacrifice their elaborate polyphonic masses to congregational participation hold that the word participation can have a broader meaning than is commonly accepted. They maintain that intelligent listening can be considered as participation of a sort.
This is true. It is, nevertheless, begging the question, for we are concerned with whether or not the congregation should participate in the singing, not merely the listening. To say that a congregation that habitually listens to the fine singing of a good choir is participating in the liturgy in the commonly accepted sense is simply not true. There are parts, such as the Gradual, the Alleluia, the Offertory, which are extended, meditative compositions, calling for attentive listening by congregation and those clergy on the altar who are permitted by their functions to listen. These are the very parts, however, which the average polyphonic choir will sing to some abridged formula in order to get to a more elaborate motet. This is an unfortunate commentary on the attitude of our "liturgical" choirmasters.
Many choirmasters insist that the congregation which has been given the short responses to sing is fulfilling its assigned role. This meager sop to the conscience will not do. This would reduce the role of the congregation to less than what would have been the norm in most medieval churches, according to our best information. In the light of what is possible today, we cannot admit that the silent congregations of recent years come anywhere near the humblest efforts of the middle ages. We have not only the means to do better; we have the obligation.
III. Congregational Music
Much verbiage has been expended on the nature of the music which is to be given to the congregation. A large segment of our professional musicians and liturgists are in favor of passing by the Gregorian repertoire in favor of something less "strange" to the layman's ear. Chant, with its free rhythm, its modality and its characteristic neume-groups seems, to these people, to be too much for the average man-on-the-street to grasp.
It is true that one cannot begin immediately on a program of full and varied chant Ordinaries, but the difficulties involved are largely illusions in the mind of the musician. This may seem to be paradoxical, for at first reflection, we would think that the professional musician would find the chant easiest, and the completely inexperienced and untrained layman find it most difficult. This does not happen to be true.
[16] Most of the difficulties which appear to the musician are involved with preparation for learning and singing the chant. The approach to some of the chants of the Ordinary will require serious study, reflection and familiarization, all of which takes time and effort. This leaves an impression of general difficulty on the average choirmaster which will color his approach to teaching chant to a congregation. What he does not see at first is that the chant is taught the congregation by rote, not by note, and that his own careful rendition of the chant as a model for imitation will be the best guarantee of sound congregational singing. The most important elements of the performance: style, tempo, articulation, phrasing — these are not matters of deciphering notation, because they surpass the power of notation to express them. They must be soundly prepared by the group which is to exemplify the chant for the congregational imitation. Then they will be transmitted as integral elements of the music the congregation will learn.
Some choirmasters maintain that the rhythmic difficulties of the chant will cause trouble at the outset. They say that the free alternation of groups of two and three, the various long notes (pressus, oriscus, etc.) and the placing of the rests will be too difficult to learn. This is not so. The congregation does not have to learn the technical differences and distinctions in Gregorian theory in order to sing. It does not have to learn 18th century counterpoint in order to sing a Bach chorale. Natural human musicality, mimicry and mnemonics will enable any average group to learn the music of a chant Ordinary in a relatively short time.
If a choirmaster pleads that his congregation sings chant badly, we can only tell him that he must supply a better quality to be imitated.
IV. Modern Music
We cannot overlook the possibility that our contemporary composers can provide music of liturgical character and [17] congregational design. The principal problem here, of course, is quality of the music, as most of our contemporary church composers already understand the basic principles of congregational style, the populo parts of liturgical compositions, the proportional limits of the music which must be sung within the Mass schedule, etc. It would be entirely unfair and regressive to wish to exclude the better contemporary efforts from practice in our churches.
We must recognize, however, the small proportion of high-quality music to the enormous amount produced and marketed. Here, as elsewhere, all that glitters is certainly not gold. Much has been written to serve the liturgy which is not of a standard worthy of its intent.
Unfortunately, the congregation is largely at the mercy of one or two persons in regard to choice of music. Frequently our choirmasters select the somewhat neutral ground of the "people's mass", a type of composition which fills an important role in developing congregational singing of the Ordinary, as the basis for initationg [sic] work in that direction. This kind of music is useful, but it should be supplanted by something better as soon as possible. In many instances it would be possible to go to better music at the very outset.
At a recent informal session held at the McLaughlin and Reilly rehearsal hall in Boston during the 1956 NCMEA convention, the question of contemporary musical trends was made the object of discussion, inquiry and serious listening. A number of important composers were present, and the group of participants in the discussion included both conservatives and the avant-garde. The general attitude seemed to be one of respect for contemporary efforts to bring into the scope of church music those technical developments of our day which have been accepted in serious music outside the church. This respect ranged from simple efforts toward broad-mindedness to full enthusiasm. It would seem then, from the cross-section of church musicians of all types who evinced interest in this discussion, that our contemporary church music is beginning to rise above the sterility of the [18] Caecilian school to something with more positive qualities to recommend it. This is a beginning, and when enough music of this kind has been written and sung, we may legitimately hope to find a few masterpieces taking their places in the repertoire of our times.
At the present writing, however, the great corpus of congregationally suitable music is that of chant. Not enough contemporary music is known or sung to establish any works as "standard" or "classical" for liturgical use. The liturgical music program, then, in adapting to the needs of congregational participation, must consider chant to be the first source of material, and this is true in the large parish as much as in the small one.
V. Conclusions
To those who have tried the experiment, the use of chant congregationally is no doubtful matter, providing the training of the choirmaster has been sufficient to reproduce the chant style accurately and artistically. For those who remain in doubt, we may point to the example of France, where, although barren areas exist, the fruit of years of work and training is beginning to produce singing congregations who perform the chant with fervor and artistry. The author has had the happy experience of working with one such congregation which knew a number of chant settings by heart, so that once the choir had begun the Kyrie, the people followed on to the end of the mass with their own enthusiastic and full-voiced singing.
Many of the difficulties met with by the average choirmaster should be attributed to his own inadequacies, not to the inability of the congregation to handle chant. Unless such purely fundamental notions as the elementary rhythm, the compound rhythm, the articulation of consonants (a very important part of chant style in the Solesmes method), the soft attack of the word-final ictus, the thetic crescendo which often links two incises, the deliberate broadening of movement when the melody leaps, the avoidance of haste in descending passages . . . unless all these are an assimilated [19] unit in the subconscious of the choirmaster, he will not succeed in making the congregation enjoy its participation and sense its artistic role.
Only by having confidence in the work undertaken can a choirmaster reach his goal, and this applies to the development of congregational singing. No half-way measures will do . . . no "gradual" education of the people. A strong and direct program will bear fruit, whereas uncertainty and mental reservations will produce only failure. Good intentions are not enough, of course, but given everything else, their lack will make success impossible.
---
Source: J. Robert Carroll, "Cold Facts on the Congregational Singing of Gregorian Chant," The Gregorian Review 3, no. 8 (May-June 1956): 11–19.
Wednesday, November 6, 2019
The Liturgical Year in the Organ Chorals of Johann Sebastian Bach (1956)
[3] We do not today possess the large number of Preludes which Johann Sebastian Bach composed on the Choral tunes which were sung in his time throughout the liturgical year. Only 160 or so have been preserved for us. These have been grouped in sets or collections by Bach himself:
1) The Little Organ Book, composed at Cothen between 1717 and 1725 and intended for "the beginning organist who has need of examples for the performance of all kinds of chorals, and for the development of ability in the study of the pedal". It includes forty-five chorals, generally somewhat short ones, classed according to the order of the liturgical year.
2) The twenty-one Chorals published in 1739 by their composer, in the third part of the "Clavierubung (keyboard exercises), containing various preludes on the tunes of the Catechism and other tunes, for organ".
3) The so-called "Leipzig Chorals", pieces of various dates which were published after Bach's death by his son-in-law, Altnikol.
4) The six Chorals (transcriptions of Cantata airs) published in 1746, and the Variations on a Christmas Carol published in 1747, which makes up a total of ninety-one Chorals.
The approximately sixty-nine othrs [sic] (since many are of doubtful authenticity) make up a kind of reliquary of diverse pieces which seem to be youthful works and fantasies . . . a whole corpus of music which Bach did not think should be included in the collections described above.
[4] In the following commentary we shall not concern ourselves with the historical or technical study of the Bach Chorals. This has been done many times already. Beginning with the facts given by Spitta, Schweitzer, Pirro, Dufourcq and others, however, it may not be entirely amiss to emphasize somewhat the properly religious aspect of the hymn-paraphrases, taken for the most part from the psalms and hymns of the Church, determine their meaning, and in this way discover the relationships which they maintain, sometimes with the letter and more often with the spirit of certain Gregorian melodies which are sung on the principal feasts of the Liturgical Year.
I. Expectation of the Saviour [sic] of Mankind
We know that the forty-five Chorals of the Little Organ Book were arranged by Bach himself according to the order of the liturgical seasons. This order, abandoned by the older Peters editions, was fortunately restored in more recent classical editions. We shall continually cite that of Marcel Dupre, published by Bornemann's of Paris (D.B.).
The collection opens with a prelude on Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (D.B., Book VII, No. 1). It is short, but full of grandeur. The counterpoint is rich, severe in some places, and it rises up like the ringing of solemn bells. The choral-tune is in the upper part, considerably altered and fitted to the rhythm of the rest. A person familiar with the Monastic Antiphonary will not, however, have any difficulty in recognizing the melody which the Benedictine Order sings during Christmastide at the hymn for the Little Hours:
Actually, we have here an adaptation in the present Office of a melody which the manuscripts assign to the hymn Veni [5]
Redemptor Gentium, the text of which goes back to the fourth century, since its attribution to Saint Ambrose (340-397) is solidly established. Dom Gueranger gave the Latin text of it in his Annee Liturgique, together with a French translation, for the fourth Wednesday of Advent, presenting it as a "hymn of preparation for Christmas".
In fact, for many centuries this hymn was sung at First Vespers of Christmas, and it was not until 1568 that, with the reform of the Roman Breviary ordered by St. Pius, this Veni Redemptor Gentium disappeared from liturgical use. The Milanese Church, at least, still keeps it and still sings it at the Lucernarium of First Vespers of the Nativity of Our Lord.
Even during the Middle Ages this hymn was translated into vernacular languages, particularly in Germany, where we find it to have been in wide use with a number of variants. During the same period, the original melody underwent changes of melodic and rhythmic nature so that the translation of the hymn by Luther at the beginning of the sixteenth century and the choral to which it was sung from that time on, far from being a "creation", represent, on the contrary, the result of a long and slow evolution.
The liturgical reform of St. Pius V, then, had this paradoxical result, that the hymn of St. Ambrose, henceforth ignored in Catholic countries, came to meet with good fortune in Germany. Protestant organists, in fact, were supposed to paraphrase the hymn tune before it was to be sung by the congregation. Fritz Munger gives a very full list of these Preludes: Choralbearbeitungen fur Orgel, Barenreiter Verlag, 1952, p. 101-102, and the magazine Orgue et Liturgie (No. 19, Paris, 1953), has made a number of them available to us, from Michael Praetorius (1571-1621) to Wilhelm-Friedemann Bach (1710-1784).
[6] The melody set by Praetorius, Scheidt (1624) and their contemporaries takes the following form:
We see that in spite of two hesitant alterations, this theme remains very faithful to the original melody. In contrapuntal developments, however, the laws of tonality become more and more demanding. A characteristic example of these compromises between the older modality and classic tonality is found in the five verses of Scheidt on the Hymn de Adventu Domini. The first and fourth fragments of the tune, altered in verses one, three and four, return, in the soprano of the second verse and the bass of the fifth, to the regular form of the older melody.
With the second half of the seventeenth century, however, we usually find the melody to be more ornate:
Adopted and harmonized in four parts by Scheidt in his Tablaturbuch of 1650, it has often been ornamented, particularly by Nikolaus Bruhns (1665-1697) [,] Johann Pachelbel (1653-1706), Dietrich Buxtehude (1637-1707), Johann Gottfried Walther (1684-1748), etc. . . .
These chorals merit more than a simple mention, but we must now return to those of Johann Sebastian Bach.
[7] It has been often said that Bach occupies a central position in the history of music. With an extraordinary capacity for work, he was able to summarize and bring to perfection a long tradition inherited from the musicians of western Europe (Northern Germany, Central Germany, Italy, France, etc. . . .), but he was a man who perceived the musical problems of his time and who oriented the entire future of his art. With him, in fact, equal temperament became solidly established, and tonality became a dominant element. We have an example of this orientation in the way in which he treated the choral Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland.
On this theme Bach wrote two cantatas (Nos. 61 and 62), five Chorals for organ, a Fuguetta (or rather a piece "in fugue" on the first phrase of the choral tune) which probably belongs to the group of youthful works (D.B., Book XII, No. 8), the Choral already mentioned in the Little Organ Book [sic] VII, No. 1), [sic] and the three great Chorals of the Leipzig collection (D.B., Book IX, Nos. 9, 10, and 11).
In the little fugue and in the Cothen Choral, Bach is still faithful to the melody as used by Buxtehude, Pachelbel or Walther, but in the cantatas and Leipzig chorals, he changes the intonation in such a way that the melody is now based on the key of G minor:
On this "alteration of a single note" Andre Pirro has written some eloquent pages. For him it is not merely "because of the simple turn of the modulations" that Bach chose this "characteristic variant". "We may be permitted, on the contrary, to see here that by utilizing this change of the basic tune in his composition, he sensed that it was possible [8] to bring a more profound interpretation to this Advent hymn."
"Although the poetry invokes the coming of the Saviour [sic] of the Gentiles, the music seems to predict even from this time, by this phrase of pathos, the sufferings which await Him among men and the death which He must undergo. It is a characteristic of Bach's religion to feel a need to express both Christ's birth, which is the beginning of his redeeming work, and His death on the cross, which marks the achievement of His mission". This is a fine thought, but does it correspond with the hidden intention of the composer? Does not this smack of over-systematization? This seems more in question, too, as Bach was not the first to have used this particular alteration. We find proof of this in the Choral of Bruhns we have just cited.
Moreover, if it be proved that by using this altered interval Bach sought "to bring Calvary into the aspects of the cradle from the very outset", he would still have been merely expressing in music a doctrine expounded frequently by the Fathers of the Church, particularly by Leo the Great, who, on Christmas day, seeks to contemplate in this "nova nativitas" the beginning of our redemption. Then, too, does not St. Ambrose take the same perspectives in verses five and six of the Veni Redemptor Gentium? "Having proceded from the Father, He returns to the Father; having descended into Hell, He now takes His place on the throne of God" . . . "Co-eternal Son, equal to the Father, triumph over our mortal flesh; by Thine immutable Power, strengthen our weak natures".
Regardless of all this, what is undeniably clear in listening to the three Leipzig Chorals is the nobility and grandeur of the style, as well as the amplitude of the figurations.
This characteristic of noble style is noticeable even in the eleventh Choral [BWV 661], which from a chronological point of view, seems earlier than the other two. Structurally speaking, it merely carries out a principle which was a favorite of [9] Pachelbel, which consists of preparing each entry of the choral tune with imitative passages in diminished values. Here, however, the counterpoint is more vigorous. It calls for the ensemble of foundation stops and mixtures of the organ, whereas each phrase of the theme appears in the pedal, enriched by the addition of reeds. This Chorale-Prelude is most effective when played in a somewhat moving tempo, although not to the point of precipitation, while one should take care to rpeserve strictly the inexorable rhythm which flows through the whole piece.
Choral No. 10 [BWV 660] of the same collection is rarely performed by organists. It deserves, however, a better fate. Perhaps the reason for its lesser popularity is the disconcerting aspect, at first glance, of a rarely used disposition of the parts. Two parts, one in the pedal and the other in the manual, cross and interplay in a continuous and close dialogue. A third part enters periodically to assert the choral tune at the octave, but in a greatly extended and ornamented form. This trio form obliges one to forego the habitual 16 foot pedal, as the two crossing parts must be sounded in the same register, although with two different timbres. We no longer have the brilliance and amplitude of sound found up to this point (D.B., VII, No. 1, and IX, No. 2). This movement is more tranquil, the parts become more discreet, and the choral rises up like an earnest prayer, almost in sadness, to the sole Saviour [sic] of the world.
This interpretation of the Advent Choral attains its fullness in Prelude No. 9 [BWV 659] of this Leipzig set (D.B., IX, No. 9). This is the masterpeice of all the preludes on Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland and one of the summits of the whole corpus of organ Chorals.
Over a steady and solemn bass, the middle voices do not merely prepare the entries of the tune with imitations and ornaments in conformity with usual practice. They also "sing" in a markedly more flexible movement than that of the bass, and their interest grows continually. Note in particular the measures just before the final entry of the tune. [10] Finally, in the upper voice the melody of the choral soars up with supreme tranquility, ornamented with arabesques in very pure and peaceful lines like the upsurge of a prayer.
Such a happy result is not exceptional in the immense output of Johann Sebastian Bach. We could mention a number of others, and each would be a revelation of the extent of his musical genius, and still more of the quality of his soul. Bach held a vigorous faith, as nobody would seriously be able to deny, but there is more to it than that. He must be numbered among those who "know what it is to wait in expectation", who desire and anticipate the return of their Master.
These masterpieces have within them something of mystery, and these few commentaries cannot pretend to have clarified this point. They aid us, however, in better understanding why these Chorals do not seem out-of-place in the plan of the Advent liturgy. Technically we are far from the early melody and its flexible and lively rhythm and the resonance of the second Gregorian mode. Nevertheless, deeper affinities remain, for experience has proved that at First Vespers of Christmas, this music well fits the spiritual atmosphere produced by this wonderful Office. As early as the fourth century, this vulnerable hymn which we have examined evoked it with simplicity and grandeur:
Come, Redeemer of all Peoples;
Be known as the Son of the Virgin;
Let the whole world be amazed;
Such a birth is due to a God.
Even now Thy cradle brightly shines;
In the night a new light has glowed forth;
No darkness can obscure it;
It is the permanent splendor of faith!
---
Source: Dom Antoine Bonnet, "The Liturgical Year in the Organ Chorals of Johann Sebastian Bach," The Gregorian Review 3, no. 1 (January-February 1956): 3–10.
1) The Little Organ Book, composed at Cothen between 1717 and 1725 and intended for "the beginning organist who has need of examples for the performance of all kinds of chorals, and for the development of ability in the study of the pedal". It includes forty-five chorals, generally somewhat short ones, classed according to the order of the liturgical year.
2) The twenty-one Chorals published in 1739 by their composer, in the third part of the "Clavierubung (keyboard exercises), containing various preludes on the tunes of the Catechism and other tunes, for organ".
3) The so-called "Leipzig Chorals", pieces of various dates which were published after Bach's death by his son-in-law, Altnikol.
4) The six Chorals (transcriptions of Cantata airs) published in 1746, and the Variations on a Christmas Carol published in 1747, which makes up a total of ninety-one Chorals.
The approximately sixty-nine othrs [sic] (since many are of doubtful authenticity) make up a kind of reliquary of diverse pieces which seem to be youthful works and fantasies . . . a whole corpus of music which Bach did not think should be included in the collections described above.
[4] In the following commentary we shall not concern ourselves with the historical or technical study of the Bach Chorals. This has been done many times already. Beginning with the facts given by Spitta, Schweitzer, Pirro, Dufourcq and others, however, it may not be entirely amiss to emphasize somewhat the properly religious aspect of the hymn-paraphrases, taken for the most part from the psalms and hymns of the Church, determine their meaning, and in this way discover the relationships which they maintain, sometimes with the letter and more often with the spirit of certain Gregorian melodies which are sung on the principal feasts of the Liturgical Year.
I. Expectation of the Saviour [sic] of Mankind
We know that the forty-five Chorals of the Little Organ Book were arranged by Bach himself according to the order of the liturgical seasons. This order, abandoned by the older Peters editions, was fortunately restored in more recent classical editions. We shall continually cite that of Marcel Dupre, published by Bornemann's of Paris (D.B.).
The collection opens with a prelude on Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (D.B., Book VII, No. 1). It is short, but full of grandeur. The counterpoint is rich, severe in some places, and it rises up like the ringing of solemn bells. The choral-tune is in the upper part, considerably altered and fitted to the rhythm of the rest. A person familiar with the Monastic Antiphonary will not, however, have any difficulty in recognizing the melody which the Benedictine Order sings during Christmastide at the hymn for the Little Hours:
Actually, we have here an adaptation in the present Office of a melody which the manuscripts assign to the hymn Veni [5]
Redemptor Gentium, the text of which goes back to the fourth century, since its attribution to Saint Ambrose (340-397) is solidly established. Dom Gueranger gave the Latin text of it in his Annee Liturgique, together with a French translation, for the fourth Wednesday of Advent, presenting it as a "hymn of preparation for Christmas".
In fact, for many centuries this hymn was sung at First Vespers of Christmas, and it was not until 1568 that, with the reform of the Roman Breviary ordered by St. Pius, this Veni Redemptor Gentium disappeared from liturgical use. The Milanese Church, at least, still keeps it and still sings it at the Lucernarium of First Vespers of the Nativity of Our Lord.
Even during the Middle Ages this hymn was translated into vernacular languages, particularly in Germany, where we find it to have been in wide use with a number of variants. During the same period, the original melody underwent changes of melodic and rhythmic nature so that the translation of the hymn by Luther at the beginning of the sixteenth century and the choral to which it was sung from that time on, far from being a "creation", represent, on the contrary, the result of a long and slow evolution.
The liturgical reform of St. Pius V, then, had this paradoxical result, that the hymn of St. Ambrose, henceforth ignored in Catholic countries, came to meet with good fortune in Germany. Protestant organists, in fact, were supposed to paraphrase the hymn tune before it was to be sung by the congregation. Fritz Munger gives a very full list of these Preludes: Choralbearbeitungen fur Orgel, Barenreiter Verlag, 1952, p. 101-102, and the magazine Orgue et Liturgie (No. 19, Paris, 1953), has made a number of them available to us, from Michael Praetorius (1571-1621) to Wilhelm-Friedemann Bach (1710-1784).
[6] The melody set by Praetorius, Scheidt (1624) and their contemporaries takes the following form:
We see that in spite of two hesitant alterations, this theme remains very faithful to the original melody. In contrapuntal developments, however, the laws of tonality become more and more demanding. A characteristic example of these compromises between the older modality and classic tonality is found in the five verses of Scheidt on the Hymn de Adventu Domini. The first and fourth fragments of the tune, altered in verses one, three and four, return, in the soprano of the second verse and the bass of the fifth, to the regular form of the older melody.
With the second half of the seventeenth century, however, we usually find the melody to be more ornate:
Adopted and harmonized in four parts by Scheidt in his Tablaturbuch of 1650, it has often been ornamented, particularly by Nikolaus Bruhns (1665-1697) [,] Johann Pachelbel (1653-1706), Dietrich Buxtehude (1637-1707), Johann Gottfried Walther (1684-1748), etc. . . .
These chorals merit more than a simple mention, but we must now return to those of Johann Sebastian Bach.
[7] It has been often said that Bach occupies a central position in the history of music. With an extraordinary capacity for work, he was able to summarize and bring to perfection a long tradition inherited from the musicians of western Europe (Northern Germany, Central Germany, Italy, France, etc. . . .), but he was a man who perceived the musical problems of his time and who oriented the entire future of his art. With him, in fact, equal temperament became solidly established, and tonality became a dominant element. We have an example of this orientation in the way in which he treated the choral Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland.
On this theme Bach wrote two cantatas (Nos. 61 and 62), five Chorals for organ, a Fuguetta (or rather a piece "in fugue" on the first phrase of the choral tune) which probably belongs to the group of youthful works (D.B., Book XII, No. 8), the Choral already mentioned in the Little Organ Book [sic] VII, No. 1), [sic] and the three great Chorals of the Leipzig collection (D.B., Book IX, Nos. 9, 10, and 11).
In the little fugue and in the Cothen Choral, Bach is still faithful to the melody as used by Buxtehude, Pachelbel or Walther, but in the cantatas and Leipzig chorals, he changes the intonation in such a way that the melody is now based on the key of G minor:
On this "alteration of a single note" Andre Pirro has written some eloquent pages. For him it is not merely "because of the simple turn of the modulations" that Bach chose this "characteristic variant". "We may be permitted, on the contrary, to see here that by utilizing this change of the basic tune in his composition, he sensed that it was possible [8] to bring a more profound interpretation to this Advent hymn."
"Although the poetry invokes the coming of the Saviour [sic] of the Gentiles, the music seems to predict even from this time, by this phrase of pathos, the sufferings which await Him among men and the death which He must undergo. It is a characteristic of Bach's religion to feel a need to express both Christ's birth, which is the beginning of his redeeming work, and His death on the cross, which marks the achievement of His mission". This is a fine thought, but does it correspond with the hidden intention of the composer? Does not this smack of over-systematization? This seems more in question, too, as Bach was not the first to have used this particular alteration. We find proof of this in the Choral of Bruhns we have just cited.
Moreover, if it be proved that by using this altered interval Bach sought "to bring Calvary into the aspects of the cradle from the very outset", he would still have been merely expressing in music a doctrine expounded frequently by the Fathers of the Church, particularly by Leo the Great, who, on Christmas day, seeks to contemplate in this "nova nativitas" the beginning of our redemption. Then, too, does not St. Ambrose take the same perspectives in verses five and six of the Veni Redemptor Gentium? "Having proceded from the Father, He returns to the Father; having descended into Hell, He now takes His place on the throne of God" . . . "Co-eternal Son, equal to the Father, triumph over our mortal flesh; by Thine immutable Power, strengthen our weak natures".
Regardless of all this, what is undeniably clear in listening to the three Leipzig Chorals is the nobility and grandeur of the style, as well as the amplitude of the figurations.
This characteristic of noble style is noticeable even in the eleventh Choral [BWV 661], which from a chronological point of view, seems earlier than the other two. Structurally speaking, it merely carries out a principle which was a favorite of [9] Pachelbel, which consists of preparing each entry of the choral tune with imitative passages in diminished values. Here, however, the counterpoint is more vigorous. It calls for the ensemble of foundation stops and mixtures of the organ, whereas each phrase of the theme appears in the pedal, enriched by the addition of reeds. This Chorale-Prelude is most effective when played in a somewhat moving tempo, although not to the point of precipitation, while one should take care to rpeserve strictly the inexorable rhythm which flows through the whole piece.
Choral No. 10 [BWV 660] of the same collection is rarely performed by organists. It deserves, however, a better fate. Perhaps the reason for its lesser popularity is the disconcerting aspect, at first glance, of a rarely used disposition of the parts. Two parts, one in the pedal and the other in the manual, cross and interplay in a continuous and close dialogue. A third part enters periodically to assert the choral tune at the octave, but in a greatly extended and ornamented form. This trio form obliges one to forego the habitual 16 foot pedal, as the two crossing parts must be sounded in the same register, although with two different timbres. We no longer have the brilliance and amplitude of sound found up to this point (D.B., VII, No. 1, and IX, No. 2). This movement is more tranquil, the parts become more discreet, and the choral rises up like an earnest prayer, almost in sadness, to the sole Saviour [sic] of the world.
This interpretation of the Advent Choral attains its fullness in Prelude No. 9 [BWV 659] of this Leipzig set (D.B., IX, No. 9). This is the masterpeice of all the preludes on Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland and one of the summits of the whole corpus of organ Chorals.
Over a steady and solemn bass, the middle voices do not merely prepare the entries of the tune with imitations and ornaments in conformity with usual practice. They also "sing" in a markedly more flexible movement than that of the bass, and their interest grows continually. Note in particular the measures just before the final entry of the tune. [10] Finally, in the upper voice the melody of the choral soars up with supreme tranquility, ornamented with arabesques in very pure and peaceful lines like the upsurge of a prayer.
Such a happy result is not exceptional in the immense output of Johann Sebastian Bach. We could mention a number of others, and each would be a revelation of the extent of his musical genius, and still more of the quality of his soul. Bach held a vigorous faith, as nobody would seriously be able to deny, but there is more to it than that. He must be numbered among those who "know what it is to wait in expectation", who desire and anticipate the return of their Master.
These masterpieces have within them something of mystery, and these few commentaries cannot pretend to have clarified this point. They aid us, however, in better understanding why these Chorals do not seem out-of-place in the plan of the Advent liturgy. Technically we are far from the early melody and its flexible and lively rhythm and the resonance of the second Gregorian mode. Nevertheless, deeper affinities remain, for experience has proved that at First Vespers of Christmas, this music well fits the spiritual atmosphere produced by this wonderful Office. As early as the fourth century, this vulnerable hymn which we have examined evoked it with simplicity and grandeur:
Come, Redeemer of all Peoples;
Be known as the Son of the Virgin;
Let the whole world be amazed;
Such a birth is due to a God.
Even now Thy cradle brightly shines;
In the night a new light has glowed forth;
No darkness can obscure it;
It is the permanent splendor of faith!
---
Source: Dom Antoine Bonnet, "The Liturgical Year in the Organ Chorals of Johann Sebastian Bach," The Gregorian Review 3, no. 1 (January-February 1956): 3–10.
Speaking Out Against the Little Things
There is a valid point to the following:
---
Source: https://www.cathinfo.com/sspx-resistance-news/sspx-trad-culture-is-near-dead/msg670573/#msg670573
Organ Music and Gregorian Chant (1956)
[3] The problem of the relationship between organ music and liturgical chant is not a new one. It has presented itself since the earliest days when, through a unique privilege, the organ became an instrument of the Church and was given the role of functioning with the choir, bringing to the service of the divine cult the multitude of its voices and the variety of its tonal resources.
All musicians whose duties place them at an organ console have felt to a greater or lesser degree the grandeur and nobility of the role given to them in the course of the liturgical Offices, and they have made some very fine declarations of principle in this regard. In spite of the diversity of their temperaments, their musical educations and their esthetic tendencies, they all agree in declaring that the church organist should not play "during the Office, but play the Office itself" (Maurice Emmanuel), and that he should "become as closely united with the Office as possible by drawing for inspiration on pieces of plain-chant" (Marcel Dupres [sic]).
Regarding these principles, then, there are neither difficulties nor disagreements; we have a fine and unanimous viewpoint. When it comes to the practical working-out, however, it is quite another matter. Problems have a way of multiplying, and what a wide diversity there is in the manner of solving them! In itself this diversity is not wrong, but we must maintain that the whim and caprice of an individual cannot be suitable to the norm of a religious Office, the prime quality of which must be unity. No doubt these are complicated matters, and are very difficult to describe with exactitude. Yet they are all too real. Perhaps an analogy will help us to see this more clearly.
[4] Go to Chartres and stand before the western facade. The "new" tower will not shock you next to the "irreproachable spire" of the "old" tower. You will, moreover, appreciate its beauty without difficulty, because it will seem to you to be the logical development of the romanesque tower on which it is erected.
Then go into the Cathedral up to the vault of the choir and look about you. Immediately something is upset within you. The "embellishments" of the canons of the eighteenth century, and in particular the group of the Assumption of Bridan seem to be out-of-place in such a place. They do not match the style, proportions or grace of the incomparable sanctuary.
The organist is faced with problems similar to these. He must blend into this unified ensemble in such a way that his listeners, far from being caused to resent him, will, on the contrary, silently be grateful for his having been able to enhance the prayers and chants of the whole congregation.
To get a complete picture of the problem, we would be obliged to go back to the very origins of organ music. Then, following the passing of time, we should study the different solutions which Church organists have applied to the problem at hand. We would be obliged, in short, to undertake a history of organ music in its liturgical roles. This would be a wonderful and very useful work, but of vast proportions which would easily fill a huge volume. In these few pages we shall content ourselves with taking a characteristic example which will permit us to show the essential error to avoid, and in the same process to uncover the essential elements of a proper and satisfying solution.
In 1685 at Paris, Nicholas Gigault, organist at Holy Spirit and of the churches of Saint-Nicholas and Saint-Martin-des-Champs, published a Livre de Musique pour l'orgue which contained about 180 pieces, all intended for [5] service playing, grouped according to the eight church tones and written to a great extent on plain-chant melodies.
In the opening remarks to his readers, Gigault shows a constant care to conform to the needs and demands of divine worship. Not only does he write somewhat short pieces in order not to cause delays in the service, but he even takes care to plan for cuts, if they should be necessary. He goes into certain details of the intonations of the different tones and remarks that he has tried to conform to plain-chant, and particularly to the finals in order to give the intonations to the choir more clearly. Finally, the book is dedicated "to the Blessed Virgin". In this noble dedication is said, among other things, that the Magnificat "is the most beautiful of all the canticles . . . on which our art will be applied eternally without even the most beautiful sounds, or all the harmony of music being able to equal the least of its divine expressions". In closing, our organist asks the Blessed Virgin "to grant that his chants may please the heart even more than the ear, to raise the soul of those who hear them to You and to Your Son, and to give them an ardent desire to rise to Heaven to hear that ineffable Music which must be our eternal Joy".
Here we have a grouping of completely favorable dispositions which leads us to see Nicholas Gigault as a model liturgical organist. Of the 214 pages of his Organ Book, however, nothing has survived the wear of time. None of the pieces designed with such care could be used for a service. In spite of our good will, we are forced to admit that we rarely see such a contrast between the excellence of principles and the poverty of the result.
What could possibly be the cause of such misfortune? What is the basic error which would explain all the others? This basic lack seems to us to have been certainly not theoretical, but a practical understanding of the primacy and excellence of Gregorian chant, "rule and supreme model of all sacred music".
[6] Instead of listening obediently to the liturgical melody and let it create in him the sounds and rhythms which result naturally from its sonorous progression, he tried on the contrary, to impose on it from without a harmonic and rhythmic treatment which is foreign to its very structure. The mode is immediately converted through the alteration of the leading tones, to the modern major or its relative minor. The melody, deprived of its proper life, is cut up in pieces and presented in long note-values. These fragments are to serve in turn as themes of works of which the developments have no inner relationship with the mode and rhythm of the melody which has been so disfigured. When the organist is a mastery of polyphonic composition and has, moreover, a deeply religious soul, he can avoid the worst consequences, and can even write pieces which, in spite of certain concessions to the tastes of the day, remain true models of liturgical music. But when the organist, filled with theories learned in school, turns to dressing the chant in the present-day musical fashions, ornamenting it with "prunings and graftings" and setting it to "new movements", nothing remains of that perfection glimpsed in the heavens of high principle. Between liturgical chant and the organ-playing a chasm opens up, a contrast is established which is all the more to be deplored because it comes in the Liturgy, where all the elements which enter into the composition of a service should blend in a single goal and unite in a common adoration.
We could stop here and say that these criticisms hold true only for classical organists who knew Gregorian chant only in its decadent form, whereas we, better situated than our ancestors, now possess plain-chant restored to its proper melody and rhythm. It is indeed true that the restoration of Gregorian chant has caused a favorable reaction among organists, and that for the last fifty years attempts have been more and more numerous toward achievement of an organ music more and more respectful of the character and grace of the ancient modes. Nevertheless, without taking away anything from the generosity of motives and the quality of the efforts, we are obliged to recognize the fact that we have not yet succeeded in creating a truly "liturgical" [7] style of music which would adapt itself effortlessly to the letter and spirit of Gregorian chant.
We should add, too, that at the point of development to which we are led by the present evolution of harmony, the problem is becoming more and more difficult to solve, as the organists are finding themselves torn between their musical training, which has legitimately advanced with their times, and the demands of the liturgical service, in which Gregorian chant remains the determining element.
Must we, then, declare that the problem is insoluble? Must we admit that we have been passed by in the inevitable progress of musical development? We do not think so, and we are even naive enough to believe that at the cost of some sacrifice . . . no doubt difficult to make . . . a harmonious solution can be arrived at.
One of the greatest musicians of our own day will help us to discover the essential points.
In 1929 the magazine Musique made a survey among composers on the evolution of music and its most recent tendencies. Manuel de Falla gave a remarkable answer, some aspects of which seem very fitting to note at this time.
To the question: "What are your present tendencies?" Falla answered: "Toward an art as strong as it is simple, and in which egotism and vanity would be absent. But what a difficult goal to reach!" If such a directive seems fitting for the demands of the art considered in itself, how much more strongly should it be proposed for the musicians who have the honor and the responsibility to write works which are beautiful, not only from the purely musical point of view, but to a degree which would make them suitable to be introduced in the body of a liturgical service! This answer, in fact, seems to us to go to the root of the question. First of all light and order have to be established in ones [sic] [8] inner being. Before going into the purely technical problems, it is necessary to resolve a basic difficult of spiritual nature. All is pointless if the soul is not first freed of itself and ready to let itself be drawn and influenced by "the pure musical substance" of Gregorian melody, separated from any arbitrary circumstance or outer superposition.
To devote oneself in this way to the discipline of plain-chant in no way implies a servile imitation, but rather a reasonable exploitation of its inexhaustible resources, creating "a music in which the eternal laws of rhythm and tonality, — intimately linked, — may be conscientiously observed."
Such a style thus presupposes:
1) Deliberate exclusion of "capricious dogmas which often become in art the worst enemies of the true and intangible dogmas" (merely think of the tyranny of C major, the down-beat, the square measure, the forbidden intervals, etc.).
2) A decided preference for free and supple rhythms, for innumerable combinations, based nevertheless on a basic value, maintained as a principle of order and unity.
3) And for a polyphony which will be both strict and bold, in which the various parts pursue their courses with a logic rigorous to the degree of its leading to a firmly established close . . . for a polyphony conceived as the blossoming of a harmony based on the natural resonance of the Gregorian modes.
What should be avoided above all are these attempted compromises between ancient modality and modern harmonic systems. Neither chromaticism nor atonality can blend with it. It is, therefore, salutory that organists are learning more and more to give up these impossible matings in preference for the reasonable and conscientious exploration of the "sonorous spaces" created by the simple flow of a plainsong melody. No doubt the Gregorian modes are diatonic in their [9] essence, but freed from the constraints of classical tonality, they imply in their resonance a whole train of harmonic groupings, bold and new. It is for each composer, according to the quality of his "antennas", to grasp their many vibrations.
We can see now in what sense we must talk of a return to the ancient melody of the Church. There can be no question of a regression, — impossible, in fact, — to a dull and soulless pastiche "of a form of art perfect of its type" (Dom Mocquereau). Not so many exercises on the chant; let there be instead a ceasely [sic] renewed "invention", more sure and certain in its discoveries to the extent that it never ceases to seek the elements of its inspiration in the same basic source. The [sic] presupposes, in fact, that Gregorian chant is the very basis of any musical training. It is, moreover, no longer a question of devoting only a few pages to the study of the ancient modes for those students who have a penchant for "archaicism" or "mysticism", [sic] On the contrary, it is time to give them first rank in the studies of counterpoint and harmony, which would then become complete treatises of modal polyphony.
Obviously we must add another condition, also very essential: talent, or even genius. God has not, however, ever refused this "gift" in the course of the long history of sacred music. Our epoque [sic] does not lack in fine talents, artists avid in serving and enriching divine worship. May they in this pathway discover, for the glory of God and our joy, ancient and new splendors.
Perhaps it is not amiss to state that these few reflections contain no hidden implications. They are intended simply as considerations in itself and for itself of a problem which is commanding more and more attention from all those who have at heart the dignity and perfection of the divine service.
---
Source: Dom Antoine Bonnet, "Organ Music and Gregorian Chant," The Gregorian Review 3, no. 2 (March-April 1956): 3–9.
All musicians whose duties place them at an organ console have felt to a greater or lesser degree the grandeur and nobility of the role given to them in the course of the liturgical Offices, and they have made some very fine declarations of principle in this regard. In spite of the diversity of their temperaments, their musical educations and their esthetic tendencies, they all agree in declaring that the church organist should not play "during the Office, but play the Office itself" (Maurice Emmanuel), and that he should "become as closely united with the Office as possible by drawing for inspiration on pieces of plain-chant" (Marcel Dupres [sic]).
Regarding these principles, then, there are neither difficulties nor disagreements; we have a fine and unanimous viewpoint. When it comes to the practical working-out, however, it is quite another matter. Problems have a way of multiplying, and what a wide diversity there is in the manner of solving them! In itself this diversity is not wrong, but we must maintain that the whim and caprice of an individual cannot be suitable to the norm of a religious Office, the prime quality of which must be unity. No doubt these are complicated matters, and are very difficult to describe with exactitude. Yet they are all too real. Perhaps an analogy will help us to see this more clearly.
[4] Go to Chartres and stand before the western facade. The "new" tower will not shock you next to the "irreproachable spire" of the "old" tower. You will, moreover, appreciate its beauty without difficulty, because it will seem to you to be the logical development of the romanesque tower on which it is erected.
Then go into the Cathedral up to the vault of the choir and look about you. Immediately something is upset within you. The "embellishments" of the canons of the eighteenth century, and in particular the group of the Assumption of Bridan seem to be out-of-place in such a place. They do not match the style, proportions or grace of the incomparable sanctuary.
The organist is faced with problems similar to these. He must blend into this unified ensemble in such a way that his listeners, far from being caused to resent him, will, on the contrary, silently be grateful for his having been able to enhance the prayers and chants of the whole congregation.
To get a complete picture of the problem, we would be obliged to go back to the very origins of organ music. Then, following the passing of time, we should study the different solutions which Church organists have applied to the problem at hand. We would be obliged, in short, to undertake a history of organ music in its liturgical roles. This would be a wonderful and very useful work, but of vast proportions which would easily fill a huge volume. In these few pages we shall content ourselves with taking a characteristic example which will permit us to show the essential error to avoid, and in the same process to uncover the essential elements of a proper and satisfying solution.
In 1685 at Paris, Nicholas Gigault, organist at Holy Spirit and of the churches of Saint-Nicholas and Saint-Martin-des-Champs, published a Livre de Musique pour l'orgue which contained about 180 pieces, all intended for [5] service playing, grouped according to the eight church tones and written to a great extent on plain-chant melodies.
In the opening remarks to his readers, Gigault shows a constant care to conform to the needs and demands of divine worship. Not only does he write somewhat short pieces in order not to cause delays in the service, but he even takes care to plan for cuts, if they should be necessary. He goes into certain details of the intonations of the different tones and remarks that he has tried to conform to plain-chant, and particularly to the finals in order to give the intonations to the choir more clearly. Finally, the book is dedicated "to the Blessed Virgin". In this noble dedication is said, among other things, that the Magnificat "is the most beautiful of all the canticles . . . on which our art will be applied eternally without even the most beautiful sounds, or all the harmony of music being able to equal the least of its divine expressions". In closing, our organist asks the Blessed Virgin "to grant that his chants may please the heart even more than the ear, to raise the soul of those who hear them to You and to Your Son, and to give them an ardent desire to rise to Heaven to hear that ineffable Music which must be our eternal Joy".
Here we have a grouping of completely favorable dispositions which leads us to see Nicholas Gigault as a model liturgical organist. Of the 214 pages of his Organ Book, however, nothing has survived the wear of time. None of the pieces designed with such care could be used for a service. In spite of our good will, we are forced to admit that we rarely see such a contrast between the excellence of principles and the poverty of the result.
What could possibly be the cause of such misfortune? What is the basic error which would explain all the others? This basic lack seems to us to have been certainly not theoretical, but a practical understanding of the primacy and excellence of Gregorian chant, "rule and supreme model of all sacred music".
[6] Instead of listening obediently to the liturgical melody and let it create in him the sounds and rhythms which result naturally from its sonorous progression, he tried on the contrary, to impose on it from without a harmonic and rhythmic treatment which is foreign to its very structure. The mode is immediately converted through the alteration of the leading tones, to the modern major or its relative minor. The melody, deprived of its proper life, is cut up in pieces and presented in long note-values. These fragments are to serve in turn as themes of works of which the developments have no inner relationship with the mode and rhythm of the melody which has been so disfigured. When the organist is a mastery of polyphonic composition and has, moreover, a deeply religious soul, he can avoid the worst consequences, and can even write pieces which, in spite of certain concessions to the tastes of the day, remain true models of liturgical music. But when the organist, filled with theories learned in school, turns to dressing the chant in the present-day musical fashions, ornamenting it with "prunings and graftings" and setting it to "new movements", nothing remains of that perfection glimpsed in the heavens of high principle. Between liturgical chant and the organ-playing a chasm opens up, a contrast is established which is all the more to be deplored because it comes in the Liturgy, where all the elements which enter into the composition of a service should blend in a single goal and unite in a common adoration.
We could stop here and say that these criticisms hold true only for classical organists who knew Gregorian chant only in its decadent form, whereas we, better situated than our ancestors, now possess plain-chant restored to its proper melody and rhythm. It is indeed true that the restoration of Gregorian chant has caused a favorable reaction among organists, and that for the last fifty years attempts have been more and more numerous toward achievement of an organ music more and more respectful of the character and grace of the ancient modes. Nevertheless, without taking away anything from the generosity of motives and the quality of the efforts, we are obliged to recognize the fact that we have not yet succeeded in creating a truly "liturgical" [7] style of music which would adapt itself effortlessly to the letter and spirit of Gregorian chant.
We should add, too, that at the point of development to which we are led by the present evolution of harmony, the problem is becoming more and more difficult to solve, as the organists are finding themselves torn between their musical training, which has legitimately advanced with their times, and the demands of the liturgical service, in which Gregorian chant remains the determining element.
Must we, then, declare that the problem is insoluble? Must we admit that we have been passed by in the inevitable progress of musical development? We do not think so, and we are even naive enough to believe that at the cost of some sacrifice . . . no doubt difficult to make . . . a harmonious solution can be arrived at.
One of the greatest musicians of our own day will help us to discover the essential points.
In 1929 the magazine Musique made a survey among composers on the evolution of music and its most recent tendencies. Manuel de Falla gave a remarkable answer, some aspects of which seem very fitting to note at this time.
To the question: "What are your present tendencies?" Falla answered: "Toward an art as strong as it is simple, and in which egotism and vanity would be absent. But what a difficult goal to reach!" If such a directive seems fitting for the demands of the art considered in itself, how much more strongly should it be proposed for the musicians who have the honor and the responsibility to write works which are beautiful, not only from the purely musical point of view, but to a degree which would make them suitable to be introduced in the body of a liturgical service! This answer, in fact, seems to us to go to the root of the question. First of all light and order have to be established in ones [sic] [8] inner being. Before going into the purely technical problems, it is necessary to resolve a basic difficult of spiritual nature. All is pointless if the soul is not first freed of itself and ready to let itself be drawn and influenced by "the pure musical substance" of Gregorian melody, separated from any arbitrary circumstance or outer superposition.
To devote oneself in this way to the discipline of plain-chant in no way implies a servile imitation, but rather a reasonable exploitation of its inexhaustible resources, creating "a music in which the eternal laws of rhythm and tonality, — intimately linked, — may be conscientiously observed."
Such a style thus presupposes:
1) Deliberate exclusion of "capricious dogmas which often become in art the worst enemies of the true and intangible dogmas" (merely think of the tyranny of C major, the down-beat, the square measure, the forbidden intervals, etc.).
2) A decided preference for free and supple rhythms, for innumerable combinations, based nevertheless on a basic value, maintained as a principle of order and unity.
3) And for a polyphony which will be both strict and bold, in which the various parts pursue their courses with a logic rigorous to the degree of its leading to a firmly established close . . . for a polyphony conceived as the blossoming of a harmony based on the natural resonance of the Gregorian modes.
What should be avoided above all are these attempted compromises between ancient modality and modern harmonic systems. Neither chromaticism nor atonality can blend with it. It is, therefore, salutory that organists are learning more and more to give up these impossible matings in preference for the reasonable and conscientious exploration of the "sonorous spaces" created by the simple flow of a plainsong melody. No doubt the Gregorian modes are diatonic in their [9] essence, but freed from the constraints of classical tonality, they imply in their resonance a whole train of harmonic groupings, bold and new. It is for each composer, according to the quality of his "antennas", to grasp their many vibrations.
We can see now in what sense we must talk of a return to the ancient melody of the Church. There can be no question of a regression, — impossible, in fact, — to a dull and soulless pastiche "of a form of art perfect of its type" (Dom Mocquereau). Not so many exercises on the chant; let there be instead a ceasely [sic] renewed "invention", more sure and certain in its discoveries to the extent that it never ceases to seek the elements of its inspiration in the same basic source. The [sic] presupposes, in fact, that Gregorian chant is the very basis of any musical training. It is, moreover, no longer a question of devoting only a few pages to the study of the ancient modes for those students who have a penchant for "archaicism" or "mysticism", [sic] On the contrary, it is time to give them first rank in the studies of counterpoint and harmony, which would then become complete treatises of modal polyphony.
Obviously we must add another condition, also very essential: talent, or even genius. God has not, however, ever refused this "gift" in the course of the long history of sacred music. Our epoque [sic] does not lack in fine talents, artists avid in serving and enriching divine worship. May they in this pathway discover, for the glory of God and our joy, ancient and new splendors.
Perhaps it is not amiss to state that these few reflections contain no hidden implications. They are intended simply as considerations in itself and for itself of a problem which is commanding more and more attention from all those who have at heart the dignity and perfection of the divine service.
---
Source: Dom Antoine Bonnet, "Organ Music and Gregorian Chant," The Gregorian Review 3, no. 2 (March-April 1956): 3–9.
Dom Antoine Bonnet, The Motu Proprio and Organ Music (1954)
The French Revue of the Association des Amis de l'Orgue has recently published a very instructive inquiry on the liturgical role of the organist (cf. L'Orgue, quarterly review, No. 61 and following). One of our better organists, having been questioned by M. Pierre Denis on the conception he held regarding the organ in the Church, answered with his usual frankness and did not hesitate to take, when faced with the problem of the church organ and its relationship with the Liturgy, a very firm position. (cf. L'Orgue, No. 58-59, p. 5-7) "The organ," says he, "will always have a tendency to encumber the liturgy, and when a high mass is sung, it should do nothing more than extend the plainchant with improvisations." Or again, "Let us not forget that the mass is before all else a participation of the congregation in prayer. The organ can do nothing more than distract them to a certain extent in making its own voice heard." (This in regard to eleven o'clock masses).
That an organist as well armed, technically speaking, as Gaston Litaize should speak with this clearness is very significant to start with. What is not less revealing, however, is the number of reactions which this declaration of principles has provoked. Let us admit that certain practical solutions proposed by the organist of St. Francois Xavier church can be open to discussion, such as that, for example, of the concert placed on Sunday between two masses "when the organist could dispense his virtuosity at leisure . . . " Finally, "to clearly forbid the principle itself of eleven o'clock [32] masses" is to affirm a truth which is basically incontestable, but at the same time to disrupt without discretion established habits and provoke inevitable backwaters. Thus it is that in the various answers given to date to the questions raised by the Bulletin des Amis de l'Orgue there is a sort of astonishment manifested, and sometimes even emotion. In any case, no other organist has dared to compromise himself on this point and renounce with such cheerfulness the romantic conceptions of the organ in church. Under diverse forms and proposing accommodations more or less varied in nature, all of them expect to keep the positions gained and to defend the rights of the king of instruments which are supposedly threatened. There is a touching attachment here, to a great extent explicable, considering how full of temptations and dangers the role demanded of the church organist is.
Just think, in fact, of the more or less conscious reactions which take hold of the organist when he seats himself at the console of his organ. From the height of the organ-loft he dominates the assembly of the faithful, and he knows that not only will he be heard by this multitude, but that he alone will have the duty of discoursing with it. Now for that he has in his power an instrument unique in its type which is in itself a universe of sound, endowed with numerous voices, various levels, and countless combinations, running from the most tenuous softness to sovereign power. Why should we be surprised if sometimes the organist loses his sense of the proper limits and is tempted to obey the demon inside him which whispers, "If you bow before me, all this is yours"? We cannot, however, escape the trend of events. It is a fact that in the course of history the organ has owed its development to the decadence of the Liturgy and the steady loss of its primitive traditions. For good logic on authentic restoration of the liturgical Regulations entails a more and more effective participation of all the faithful present in the acts of the Cult, and by way of consequence, a re-casting of the role the organ is called on to fill in the course of the ceremonies.
Is all this really so new, though? To appease our uneasiness and dissipate our doubts, is it not sufficient to read [33] over with attention the Motu Proprio of Blessed Pope Pius X? This document has existed for fifty years, and yet, far from having aged, it appears more up-to-date and fitting than ever in its decisions. The principles which the Holy Father formulates in it are precepts in edict "the fullness of Apostolic Power" and which as such have the force of law. Moreover, however, based on the reality of affairs itself and a profound experience in the exigencies of the Divine Cult, they answer our questions fully and show us with directness the road to follow.
The organ, it can be objected, occupies very little space in this "Code of Law of Sacred Music." This is true, but from this laconicism itself there arises for us an eloquent teaching on the exact place which the Church feels it should give the organ in the course of the Offices. In the Motu Proprio, in fact, the hierarchy among the diverse types of Sacred Music is admirably outlined: 1. Primacy and excellence of Gregorian Chant which is the chant proper to the Roman Church, and in which, as in a supreme model, are found the essential qualities of Sacred Music. — 2. Praise is given to Classic Polyphony and to more recent vocal works, provided that, through their qualities, they are brought closer in style to Gregorian Chant. — 3. Finally, but only in the sixth chapter, the organ is mentioned while emphasizing that the proper music of the Church being purely vocal, it is only in the manner of a permission that music with organ accompaniment can be performed, without, however, covering up the singing, preceding it with preludes or interrupting it with disproportionate interludes.
No doubt these are rather severe conditions, but are they not, when we really think about them, sound wisdom and judgment? The organist who accepts them with an open heart cannot but recognize their sound basis and accept, without sterile regrets, the place which is assigned to him in the whole scheme according to just proportions. And let it be said in passing, how can we explain after such clear directives the habits which are still spread throughout too many parishes, as, for example, the custom of putting in a piece of [34] bravura at the offertory which has no relationship at all with the act which is being accomplished at the altar, and which, under the pretext of "enhancing the ceremony" often obliges the celebrant to wait; or what is more, that of introducing during the Magnificat verses of a quality and brilliance which could still excite the spirit of a Huysmans? (Look over the description of Vespers at St. Sulpice in En Route.)
While the Motu Proprio gives us first of all a lesson in modesty, it does not mean, for all that, to paralyse [sic] the organist in the practice of his art, but, rather, encourage himself to surpass himself, to give up his personal views and renounce facile effects in order to make his playing conform to all the qualities which true sacred music should possess, and find in the difficulties of the service he is asked to give the principle of continually new progress. Erik Satie, speaking one day of "the spirit of music," asserted that "the practice of an art leads us to live in the most absolute renouncement." (P. D. Templier, Erik Satie, 1932, p. 61). Every "servant of music" has this experience, and it is certain that the "abnegation, the sacrifice of oneself, courage and patience" are indispensable virtues to the organist who is conscious of the role which the Church has confided to him in the course of the liturgical Offices. The goal to be attained is so noble that it justifies such requirements, and the organist can believe himself to be lessened in the importance if at the cost of this loyally observed discipline he lifts himself little by little up to that sanctity, that goodness of forms and that universality which, uniting him to the qualities of the liturgy itself, will leave their imprint on his art and render him capable of realizing in his way the very purpose of the whole Cult, the glory of God alone and the spiritual profit of the faithful.
One of the most disputed points of the inquiry to which we alluded at the beginning was that of improvisation. For a Gaston Litaize or an Andre Fleury the question does not seem to raise any difficulties: "Nothing can equal," declared the latter, "a plainchant mass in which the faithful perform the Gregorian melodies, the organ paraphrasing these latter [35] in a sort of direct resonance." (cf. L'Orgue, October-December 1948). This is the point of view of the organists who possess all the elements necessary to make a complete musician, but such a convergence remains exceptional, and even for the most gifted, this spontaneous musical commentary on all the pieces of an Office is a formidable test because of its frequence and its continuity. This is not to mention the immense distances which separate our musical sense from the esthetic proper to the remote composers of the Gregorian melodies. It is not without a long apprenticeship and ceaselessly renewed efforts that a musician of the twentieth century will be able to make his improvisations conform "to the rhythm and the internal structure" of Gregorian melody.
Very few organists are thus capable of improvising in a worthy manner during the liturgical offices. For all the others, the Motu Proprio furnishes the elements of a solution, if not perfect, at least satisfactory. In chapter II, in fact, the exposition of the types of Sacred Music leads us to think that there also exists for the organ a vast repertoire of "classic polyphony" which possesses, keeping all the proportions, the qualities which the Pope recognized in vocal polyphony. No doubt most of these pieces cannot be played at the moments in the Office for which they were written: Verses for the Kyrie eleison, for the Gloria in excelsis, for the Hymns and the Magnificat, etc., but the perfection, the seriousness and the gravity of their style makes them worthy to be inserted in the structure of the liturgical offices.
All of which presupposes long research and a choice which is not without difficulties. There again we find light and guidance in a capital phrase of the Motu Proprio: "A composition destined for the Church is that much more sacred and (to the extent) liturgical as by its movement, inspiration and savor, it more closely approaches Gregorian melodies; and, on the contrary, it is that much less worthy of the Temple to the extent that it diverges from this supreme model." This rule has often been remembered, but has often received a litteral [sic] and sterile interpretation. It is not sufficient that a piece be written on a plainchant theme or in one [36] of the "tones" of Gregorian chant for it to automatically take on a religious and liturgical value. It is with special design that the terms of our text have been chosen to make us understand that a servile imitation of Gregorian melody could not possibly be recommended, and that it could only be a question of coming to a more or less happy approximation of the supreme model through an ensemble of delicate and subtle qualities which alone permit us to decide the degree of relationship and correspondence between the piece being studied and liturgical chant.
The Motu Proprio gives us yet one further piece of advice on which we should insist, so well does it seem to us to answer the difficulties which press on us. In chapter VI, in fact, the Pope states clearly that not only must the organ playing contain all the qualities of true Sacred Music, but that it must be proportioned according to the proper nature of the instrument.
For twenty-five years, at least, an admirable effort has been brought to the manufacture to effect a more and more faithful restoration of the organ according to the glorious tradition which has little by little endowed this great instrument with an ensemble of qualities which confer on it a very special right to take a place in the House of God and to discourse with the choir of voices. Brought to the height of its development and enriched with recent technical perfections (adjustable combinations, etc.) such an instrument offers the organist innumerable possibilities, and this, then, is why it is more than ever opportune to call to his attention that they could in no way be exploited without a profound knowledge of the "proper nature" of the instrument and the elements of which it is composed, without an exact discernment of their extent and limit. The organ does not sound like an orchestra. The relative slowness of the opening of its pipes forbids it too rapid a movement, and certain harmonic audacities which easily get by when they are given to different instruments become unbearable on the organ when all the notes speak with the same force and are enriched by the sparkling brightness of the mixtures.
[37] We must, however, come to the end of these few reflections. They come far from exhausting the admirable concentration of the Pontifical Document. Let us hope at least that they have let us sense its permanent timeliness. What the Church expects of the organist is as though summarized in the celebrated and so often quoted proposition: I desire that my people should pray on Beauty. Servant of Music, and in that way so much more necessary for himself that his work should contribute to the beauty and dignity of the divine office, the organist should at the same time be a man of prayer,—for in order to lead others to prayer, one must first pray oneself—. Let him know how to give his art and his prayer to the texts and chants which fill the liturgical Offices, and he will discover the true means of touching souls and aiding them to raise their prayers to God, Principle and End of all Harmony and of all Perfection.
---
Source: Dom Antoine Bonnet, "The Motu Proprio and Organ Music," The Gregorian Review 1, no. 3 (May-June 1954): 31–37.
That an organist as well armed, technically speaking, as Gaston Litaize should speak with this clearness is very significant to start with. What is not less revealing, however, is the number of reactions which this declaration of principles has provoked. Let us admit that certain practical solutions proposed by the organist of St. Francois Xavier church can be open to discussion, such as that, for example, of the concert placed on Sunday between two masses "when the organist could dispense his virtuosity at leisure . . . " Finally, "to clearly forbid the principle itself of eleven o'clock [32] masses" is to affirm a truth which is basically incontestable, but at the same time to disrupt without discretion established habits and provoke inevitable backwaters. Thus it is that in the various answers given to date to the questions raised by the Bulletin des Amis de l'Orgue there is a sort of astonishment manifested, and sometimes even emotion. In any case, no other organist has dared to compromise himself on this point and renounce with such cheerfulness the romantic conceptions of the organ in church. Under diverse forms and proposing accommodations more or less varied in nature, all of them expect to keep the positions gained and to defend the rights of the king of instruments which are supposedly threatened. There is a touching attachment here, to a great extent explicable, considering how full of temptations and dangers the role demanded of the church organist is.
Just think, in fact, of the more or less conscious reactions which take hold of the organist when he seats himself at the console of his organ. From the height of the organ-loft he dominates the assembly of the faithful, and he knows that not only will he be heard by this multitude, but that he alone will have the duty of discoursing with it. Now for that he has in his power an instrument unique in its type which is in itself a universe of sound, endowed with numerous voices, various levels, and countless combinations, running from the most tenuous softness to sovereign power. Why should we be surprised if sometimes the organist loses his sense of the proper limits and is tempted to obey the demon inside him which whispers, "If you bow before me, all this is yours"? We cannot, however, escape the trend of events. It is a fact that in the course of history the organ has owed its development to the decadence of the Liturgy and the steady loss of its primitive traditions. For good logic on authentic restoration of the liturgical Regulations entails a more and more effective participation of all the faithful present in the acts of the Cult, and by way of consequence, a re-casting of the role the organ is called on to fill in the course of the ceremonies.
Is all this really so new, though? To appease our uneasiness and dissipate our doubts, is it not sufficient to read [33] over with attention the Motu Proprio of Blessed Pope Pius X? This document has existed for fifty years, and yet, far from having aged, it appears more up-to-date and fitting than ever in its decisions. The principles which the Holy Father formulates in it are precepts in edict "the fullness of Apostolic Power" and which as such have the force of law. Moreover, however, based on the reality of affairs itself and a profound experience in the exigencies of the Divine Cult, they answer our questions fully and show us with directness the road to follow.
The organ, it can be objected, occupies very little space in this "Code of Law of Sacred Music." This is true, but from this laconicism itself there arises for us an eloquent teaching on the exact place which the Church feels it should give the organ in the course of the Offices. In the Motu Proprio, in fact, the hierarchy among the diverse types of Sacred Music is admirably outlined: 1. Primacy and excellence of Gregorian Chant which is the chant proper to the Roman Church, and in which, as in a supreme model, are found the essential qualities of Sacred Music. — 2. Praise is given to Classic Polyphony and to more recent vocal works, provided that, through their qualities, they are brought closer in style to Gregorian Chant. — 3. Finally, but only in the sixth chapter, the organ is mentioned while emphasizing that the proper music of the Church being purely vocal, it is only in the manner of a permission that music with organ accompaniment can be performed, without, however, covering up the singing, preceding it with preludes or interrupting it with disproportionate interludes.
No doubt these are rather severe conditions, but are they not, when we really think about them, sound wisdom and judgment? The organist who accepts them with an open heart cannot but recognize their sound basis and accept, without sterile regrets, the place which is assigned to him in the whole scheme according to just proportions. And let it be said in passing, how can we explain after such clear directives the habits which are still spread throughout too many parishes, as, for example, the custom of putting in a piece of [34] bravura at the offertory which has no relationship at all with the act which is being accomplished at the altar, and which, under the pretext of "enhancing the ceremony" often obliges the celebrant to wait; or what is more, that of introducing during the Magnificat verses of a quality and brilliance which could still excite the spirit of a Huysmans? (Look over the description of Vespers at St. Sulpice in En Route.)
While the Motu Proprio gives us first of all a lesson in modesty, it does not mean, for all that, to paralyse [sic] the organist in the practice of his art, but, rather, encourage himself to surpass himself, to give up his personal views and renounce facile effects in order to make his playing conform to all the qualities which true sacred music should possess, and find in the difficulties of the service he is asked to give the principle of continually new progress. Erik Satie, speaking one day of "the spirit of music," asserted that "the practice of an art leads us to live in the most absolute renouncement." (P. D. Templier, Erik Satie, 1932, p. 61). Every "servant of music" has this experience, and it is certain that the "abnegation, the sacrifice of oneself, courage and patience" are indispensable virtues to the organist who is conscious of the role which the Church has confided to him in the course of the liturgical Offices. The goal to be attained is so noble that it justifies such requirements, and the organist can believe himself to be lessened in the importance if at the cost of this loyally observed discipline he lifts himself little by little up to that sanctity, that goodness of forms and that universality which, uniting him to the qualities of the liturgy itself, will leave their imprint on his art and render him capable of realizing in his way the very purpose of the whole Cult, the glory of God alone and the spiritual profit of the faithful.
One of the most disputed points of the inquiry to which we alluded at the beginning was that of improvisation. For a Gaston Litaize or an Andre Fleury the question does not seem to raise any difficulties: "Nothing can equal," declared the latter, "a plainchant mass in which the faithful perform the Gregorian melodies, the organ paraphrasing these latter [35] in a sort of direct resonance." (cf. L'Orgue, October-December 1948). This is the point of view of the organists who possess all the elements necessary to make a complete musician, but such a convergence remains exceptional, and even for the most gifted, this spontaneous musical commentary on all the pieces of an Office is a formidable test because of its frequence and its continuity. This is not to mention the immense distances which separate our musical sense from the esthetic proper to the remote composers of the Gregorian melodies. It is not without a long apprenticeship and ceaselessly renewed efforts that a musician of the twentieth century will be able to make his improvisations conform "to the rhythm and the internal structure" of Gregorian melody.
Very few organists are thus capable of improvising in a worthy manner during the liturgical offices. For all the others, the Motu Proprio furnishes the elements of a solution, if not perfect, at least satisfactory. In chapter II, in fact, the exposition of the types of Sacred Music leads us to think that there also exists for the organ a vast repertoire of "classic polyphony" which possesses, keeping all the proportions, the qualities which the Pope recognized in vocal polyphony. No doubt most of these pieces cannot be played at the moments in the Office for which they were written: Verses for the Kyrie eleison, for the Gloria in excelsis, for the Hymns and the Magnificat, etc., but the perfection, the seriousness and the gravity of their style makes them worthy to be inserted in the structure of the liturgical offices.
All of which presupposes long research and a choice which is not without difficulties. There again we find light and guidance in a capital phrase of the Motu Proprio: "A composition destined for the Church is that much more sacred and (to the extent) liturgical as by its movement, inspiration and savor, it more closely approaches Gregorian melodies; and, on the contrary, it is that much less worthy of the Temple to the extent that it diverges from this supreme model." This rule has often been remembered, but has often received a litteral [sic] and sterile interpretation. It is not sufficient that a piece be written on a plainchant theme or in one [36] of the "tones" of Gregorian chant for it to automatically take on a religious and liturgical value. It is with special design that the terms of our text have been chosen to make us understand that a servile imitation of Gregorian melody could not possibly be recommended, and that it could only be a question of coming to a more or less happy approximation of the supreme model through an ensemble of delicate and subtle qualities which alone permit us to decide the degree of relationship and correspondence between the piece being studied and liturgical chant.
The Motu Proprio gives us yet one further piece of advice on which we should insist, so well does it seem to us to answer the difficulties which press on us. In chapter VI, in fact, the Pope states clearly that not only must the organ playing contain all the qualities of true Sacred Music, but that it must be proportioned according to the proper nature of the instrument.
For twenty-five years, at least, an admirable effort has been brought to the manufacture to effect a more and more faithful restoration of the organ according to the glorious tradition which has little by little endowed this great instrument with an ensemble of qualities which confer on it a very special right to take a place in the House of God and to discourse with the choir of voices. Brought to the height of its development and enriched with recent technical perfections (adjustable combinations, etc.) such an instrument offers the organist innumerable possibilities, and this, then, is why it is more than ever opportune to call to his attention that they could in no way be exploited without a profound knowledge of the "proper nature" of the instrument and the elements of which it is composed, without an exact discernment of their extent and limit. The organ does not sound like an orchestra. The relative slowness of the opening of its pipes forbids it too rapid a movement, and certain harmonic audacities which easily get by when they are given to different instruments become unbearable on the organ when all the notes speak with the same force and are enriched by the sparkling brightness of the mixtures.
[37] We must, however, come to the end of these few reflections. They come far from exhausting the admirable concentration of the Pontifical Document. Let us hope at least that they have let us sense its permanent timeliness. What the Church expects of the organist is as though summarized in the celebrated and so often quoted proposition: I desire that my people should pray on Beauty. Servant of Music, and in that way so much more necessary for himself that his work should contribute to the beauty and dignity of the divine office, the organist should at the same time be a man of prayer,—for in order to lead others to prayer, one must first pray oneself—. Let him know how to give his art and his prayer to the texts and chants which fill the liturgical Offices, and he will discover the true means of touching souls and aiding them to raise their prayers to God, Principle and End of all Harmony and of all Perfection.
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Source: Dom Antoine Bonnet, "The Motu Proprio and Organ Music," The Gregorian Review 1, no. 3 (May-June 1954): 31–37.
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.
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.
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