There has been a certain amount of discussion in recent weeks of the nature of contemporary music and its use in the liturgy. Among the more interesting sources of discussion has been the article published in the Nov.-Dec. issue of Musart by Father Richard Schuler. It is the formal text of his address given at the NCMEA Convention in St. Louis last spring. Because of the allegedly severe criticisms we made of Father Schuler's address in the May-June issue of the Gregorian Review, the editors of Musart decided to publish the text as a means of permitting its readers to form their own opinions. This is an example of the laudable attitude of Musart and the NCMEA in all our contacts with that fine organization. It is most certainly the most direct route to the truth, which is what we all wish to find.
Contemporary music, a category of our art which necessarily includes all the many styles of present-day composition, is usually construed to mean those styles and techniques of writing which are somewhat more "dissonant" and "progressive" in comparison with classical examples. Thus we usually exclude from this category the late Jan Sibelius, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Ignace Paderewski and similarly conservative and backward-looking composers. Even Richard Strauss, for all of his unorthodox approach to harmony and texture, is normally considered to be nineteenth century in style and outlook. Thus it is not just a question of when a composer lived that will determine his classification as "contemporary" or "traditional" in the eyes of the professional musician, but it is more a question of his style and aesthetic outlook. We find, therefore, that men who died at a time when Sibelius, Rachmaninoff, Padrewski [sic] and Strauss were still in the ascendency [sic] can be considered as more "modern" or "contemporary" in regard to style. These would include [33] Busoni, Szymanowski, Roussel and even Ravel, although the impressionistic composers are usually excluded from the list of really avant-garde craftsmen.
Who are the great composers of our day, then? We cannot say with any real certainty, since we stand too close to our own era to be impartial or accurate judges. We can, however, name the more significant composers on the basis of the influence they have exerted on techniques and styles.
One of the first, of course, is Schoenberg, who broke with romantic 19th century traditions at about the same time that Stravinsky was writing his Firebird Ballet. Stravinsky moved completely away from the romantic techniques of his teacher, Rimsky-Korsakov, with his Sacre du Printemps, produced shortly before the first world war [sic]. It is our own choice, of course, but if we were asked to name a third person of importance to the formation of present-day trends in those early years, we would say that Darius Milhaud was possibly the most far-reaching in his influence, although that influence was not more apparent at first than that of the other members of the French "Six". Since those early years many other names have come to prominence, including Hindemith, Bartok, Honegger and dozens of others too familiar to the musician to need mention here. Who, if any, of these many talented composers will survive in living masterpieces in the repertoire of the next century? We cannot say. Be that as it may, we Catholics must realize that contemporary techniques are being applied by our young composers to the writing of masses, motets and organ music, and that very important contributions to liturgical music are being made in this way.
What are the marks of contemporary music? This is a matter on which we must take issue with Father Schuler. We are fully aware of the difficulties involved in presenting a clear picture of such a complex subject in the short time allotted him at St. Louis. Nevertheless, when generalities must be used, it is well that we state in emphatic terms that there [34] are exceptions to the points being stated. One cannot assume that one's listeners will recognize a generality when the subject at hand is as lamentably little-known as is contemporary music. Moreover, we cannot concede that the generalities set forth by Father Schuler are in every case true, even with large quantities of salt.
Now inasmuch as our present-day church music does not exist in a vacuum, and since the really well-trained composers of the Church have been taught and thoroughly influenced by the persons, schools and trends of the best concert-music of our day, we may reasonably expect to find that our Catholic composers use the devices and techniques, and to a certain extent the styles, of the principal composers of our day.
Unfortunately, there are not many first-rate American Catholic composers of church music in what we can call "contemporary" techniques. There are a few more, per capita, perhaps, in the European countries, but in general, we can form our best opinions through the examination of the music and of the working principles of our foremost composers of concert-music.
The first characteristic which strikes the serious student of present-day composition is the enormous variety of styles and techniques. In past centuries, too, the difference between composers in style, technique and temperament was considerable.
Wagner differs greatly from Brahms, not in his vocabulary of chords and devices, but in their use and in the all-important movement of his works. Chopin is most certainly not a Wagner, nor is he a Brahms. He differs from Schumann and from Mendelssohn, in fact, from all his important contemporaries.
In an earlier era, Bach differs greatly from Handel, and a few years later, Haydn and Mozart, although usually classed together in music histories, are as different as night and day.
[35] This distinction of musical personalities holds true today. Bartok is certainly a far cry from Schoenberg, and Hindemith is obviously leagues removed from Prokofieff [sic], even in basic techniques. Even within the national "schools" there is a sharp difference between the major writers. Honegger is clearly more introspective and complex in his approach to composition than Milhaud, and neither of these masters is very closely related by music to Caplet.
What then, we repeat, is the predominant characteristic of our present-day music? Until a very few years ago we could have said that it was a kind of vigorous experimentation. Lately, mainly since the end of the second world war [sic], there has been a change of direction, toward mastery and fluency in the techniques developed during the last fifty years. Certain composers, like Hindemith and Stravinsky, have seemed to become remarkably conservative.
Are there any techniques which have become so widely used that we may say that they are part of our contemporary style? We have reason to think so.
There is a general tendency today to write music in more than four parts. This is a natural tendency in the light of the complexity of modern harmony compared with the classical variety. Even when a present-day composer writes, let us say, a three-part a cappella motet, he frequently implies through his part-writing and broken "chord" figures a multi-voiced harmony or counterpoint. During the earlier years of this century, the result of writing in many parts and in lines borrowed from two scales at once produced what we now call "polyharmony," and when the two scales were maintained for a certain length of time in strong independence, the result was a sort of "polytonality." This was at first a conscious experimentation, but today many composers write freely and fluently in this way, and the resultant polyharmony or polytonality is a product, not a device.
Consecutive fifths and fourths are not regarded as useful parts of a composer's technique, not simply as undesirable [36] errors. The former objections to such consecutives lay in the fact that they made one part subservient to another, which in a four-part texture was too much for the equilibrium of the music. Moreover, the prominence given the lower note of the fifth or the upper note of the fourth was frequently such as to remove the feeling of free part-writing. In five-part writing the classical composers permitted occasional consecutive fifths, of course, and in our present-day complex textures, they are accepted by the ear without a qualm. Even in thin textures, they are heard by the ear as a kind of organum, not as errors of technique.
Very rarely do we find dissonance of an intensity greater than those found in the music of the nineteenth century. Often our present-day composer uses a dissonance of a much milder kind, but he then treats it differently. Where the nineteenth century composer used the dissonance as a fence post between relatively longer consonant sonorities, the present-day composer often extends the dissonant sounds to lengths as great or greater than those of his more consonant structures. It is obvious that an ear brought up exclusively on classical music takes more readily to the momentary dissonances of the nineteenth century than it does to the more extended and often unresolved dissonance of our day, in spite of the relative mildness of 20th century dissonance.
What, the reader will say, therefore, is dissonance? Since it is pointless to give arbitrary definitions based on what we would like dissonance to be, in order that it might fit some all-inclusive concept that would answer once-and-for-all the problems surrounding it, we must define it by what it has been in the course of music history.
In classical music a dissonance was a simultaneous sounding of two or more notes, usually at the interval of a second, a fourth or a tritone, or a combination of these in several parts. Sometimes these dissonances were said to "resolve" when they changed to "consonant" intervals on a succeeding beat or part of a beat. It would seem that notes related to a given note above the value of its fifth harmonic [37] were considered dissonant. Thus in classical procedures a triad was considered consonant, and a seventh chord was considered either as a dissonance, or as an "active consonance." During the nineteenth century, however, nearly any note of the twelve-tone chromatic scale could be used against any other note, and the harmonic texture was used to "explain" these dissonances, as appoggiaturas, anticipations, passing tones, or even as escape notes.
Our present day composers have not changed the concept of the dissonance, but merely its use. Instead of requiring that the dissonance be momentary and that it be explained as an anticipation of a succeeding chord tone, as a passing note between chords or as a similar dash of harmonic spice, the present-day composer incorporates certain of the dissonances as part of his vocabulary, to be used as self-sufficient and "non-resolving" intervals in his textures. In other words, some of the nineteenth century spices and seasonings have become main ingredients, and their importance and their proportion of allotted time in the texture have increased accordingly.
The advantages of the use of dissonant intervals between parts are obvious. One hears the parts more clearly because of the acoustical clash of the overtones of each of the parts. It is possible to write more parts without duplication of others from time to time at the octave. It is also, therefore, easier to hear all the parts of an eight-part texture of Honegger, for example, or of Bartok, than of Brahms. These are advantages, of course, only so long as the composer intends that the listener hear the parts clearly.
We could discuss other purely technical points now in general use, but it would not serve to illustrate anything which the reader could not get more effectively from an afternoon with a phonograph and a few of the representative works of the principal present-day composers.
What shall we say, then, of Father Schuler's four marks of today's modern church music?
[38] Father says that it is linear; it is polyphonic or contrapuntal; it is frequently dissonant; it is often athematic.
With the third point there can be little argument. It is a fact which can be observed by anyone who will take the time to listen to a half-dozen works of men of the calibre [sic] of Bartok, Hindemith, Stravinsky or their colleagues.
With the other points there is room for discussion. It would be better to qualify the statement that our modern music is "linear" with the adverb "frequently," as was done for the third point mentioned. Although interest in linear writing is strong, there are certain important works which have strongly harmonic textures.
The same can be said of the second statement, with perhaps more emphasis. Unfortunately, we have lost sight of the real nature of counterpoint today in contrast with two other more frequently used procedures: heterophony and quod libet. Often the clever combination of parts and themes gives the impression of a type of masterly counterpoint written by Bach for inversion at the octave, tenth or twelfth. True counterpoint, however, is a kind of writing in which the vertical sonorities are not ignored. Any two melodies or parts will combine, but will they "fit" together, or will they merely go their own ways in utter disregard for the intervals produced? Will any two parts be sufficient in themselves, or will they require the accompaniment of other parts to make them convincing? Let it be understood that we do not mean that modern counterpoint must obey classical rules, or that quod libet or heterophony have no value. On the contrary, when they are used by a composer with full knowledge of what he is doing, the results are often splendid. Many of us who have had the experience of "ad libbing" a familiar theme into a familiar but entirely different classical texture know that this can be fun, and the classical composers knew that it could often be powerfully moving and effective. The insignificant clashes and discrepancies of counterpoint in such cases are unimportant in the light of the end result. Perhaps the best example we know of this type of quod libet is the insertion of the Toreador Song from Bizet's Carmen [39] as a gay intruder in the Meistersinger Prelude of Wagner. It fits, after a fashion, and can be used by a wit in the cello section to baffle a student conductor, but it is the ridiculous part of a technique which can also be sublime. The exalted use of quod libet is best typified by the tone poems of Richard Strauss, in which significant recapitulations of leit-motivs [sic] in the midst of quite independent textures achieve results of unity and coherence beyond the power of any merely literal repetition. The momentary raw edges where such themes fall recklessly into a texture not intended originally to receive them pass almost unnoticed in the success of the general effect. This, however, is not counterpoint. Neither is heterophony, in spite of its often dazzling and delightful effect. The combination of a simple melody with its ornamental version in thirds, sixths or any other interval is not real counterpoint. If it were, the nineteenth century would have to be credited with more good counterpoint than any other era, since this kind of heterophony was a common practice.
Let us now consider the fourth point of Father Schuler's description of our present-day music. He says that it is frequently athematic.
Now the present writer gave a great deal of thought to this point, not in regard to its truth, since it is clearly false, but with the purpose of divining just what Father Schuler could have meant by such a statement, since he must know from his considerable listening experience that composers up to and including those living today have constantly used themes of one kind or another so that through repetition or recapitulation a kind of unity could be achieved.
It may be that Father means that modern composers usually write themes which are not of the "whistleable," tuneful kind. This is a matter of opinion, and it depends a great deal on whether or not one's ear is attuned to contemporary themes. Certainly from time to time many of us find ourselves humming some of the rich themes of Stravinsky's Petrouchka, Hindemith's Mathis der Maler, Prokofieff's Fifth Symphony, Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra or [40] any of a hundred major works of present-day composers. The Catholic composers are not less thematic in their construction of works for the liturgy. The music of Paul Creston, for example, or that of Father Woollen, is certainly based on the careful use of themes, which, although they differ in certain respects from classical themes, are nevertheless real themes.
Perhaps Father Schuler has a special meaning for the word "theme," different from the meaning implied by every composer from Lassus to our own day. If so, he would have done well to explain it to his listeners at St. Louis. From his remarks on page 47 of the above-mentioned issue of Musart, it would seem that Father restricts his concept of thematic material to "tunes." This would automatically classify much of the music written from Bach to our day as "athematic," a classification which would be grossly unfair to both the music and the listener who tries to learn something from Father Schuler's discussion. The great composers of the past have sometimes used chord patterns as themes, sometimes merely a rhythmic pattern. Some of the themes of certain works for the violin would never be recognized as "tunes," but despite their wide range and acrobatics, they are themes in every sense of the word.
Father mentions Gregorian chant and Renaissance polyphony as two kinds of music which often do not have themes or melodies (again on page 47 of the Musart issue). The factors involved here are slightly different. Chant melodies are relatively short, and they are based on prose phrase lengths of varying proportions. For this reason an introit, for example, is more like a cavatina than an art-song. The entire antiphon is a single theme, repeated after intervening sections of psalmody. There is no reason to expect that a brief chant would contain two or three repetitions of a single short theme. The same is true of polyphony. As long as relatively brief sections are the only concern of the composer, he can afford to write somewhat freely, with the declamation of the text as his guide. The problem of thematic unity is automatically solved in many cases by repetition, as called for by the Missal, Graduale [41] or other source from which the text is derived. It is significant, however, that the more extended pieces, such as Lassus' Book of Job, or in the chant, the Tract Qui habitat, use the principle of thematic repetition to maintain unity. These themes are often nothing more than little formulae or melodic fragments, but since even the more extended chants or polyphonic compositions are nowhere near as long as classical concert movements, this is sufficient for the composer's purpose.
Is there, then, any really a-thematic music? Perhaps, but it is the self-conscious product of a special technique or, as in the case of some of the works of composers like Charles Ives, it is a product of a peculiar mentality. Although the author has had the opportunity of hearing and performing much of the standard concert repertoire from Bach to Debussy, most of the chant repertoire, large parts of the polyphonic repertoire and a great deal of present-day music, he would be hard put to name more than a few works in which thematic content was either absent or very small. There are classical cavatinas, of course, but they are obviously not athematic.
There is no reason to assume that a present-day composer might not write some very successful music with a minimum of thematic content, possibly with contrasting movements in his masses. This is not the point. The fact of the matter is that most of our present day composers do not avoid thematic repetition, simply because there is no point in omitting such a useful device.
To summarize our viewpoints regarding this question of "themes," let us say that we have noted that themes can take many forms, from that of a square-cut tune to an irregular snatch of melody, and from a mere rhythm to a complex, many-voiced texture. Thematic content is minimized in very short pieces, although some short pieces are really complete themes in themselves, without repetitions. Longer pieces use more obvious themes, with contrasting sections which serve to emphasize the themes when they appear. To say that present-day music is "often athematic" [42] is as unjustified as to say that music of the past was athematic. Fortunately for the vigor and growth of our present-day music, our modern composers have retained many of the great and useful devices developed in the past, including that of the thematic exposition, transformation and development.
One other point of Father Schuler's address deserves to be mentioned. He makes a great deal of the term "affective music" as opposed to a type of objective music which merely "adorns" the text. He states that the objective kind of music was predominant until the seventeenth century and that affective music took over during that period of musical history. Father also says that the Church looks askance on affective music, and that chant and Renaissance polyphony make little or no use of affective writing.
Affective writing, since it is well that we define our terms, is construed by Father Schuler to mean that type of music which attempts to express, by devices or similar means, the emotional content of the text. He attributes the advent of this kind of writing to the Baroque period of music history.
We submit the following assertions in this regard:
1. Composers have always used and continue to use, in any period of music history, both objective styles and other styles more closely related to the moods and content of the text. As examples from the chant, we call the reader's attention to the use of the modes to express certain moods. We do not sense these moods ourselves in the chant, but we are many centuries removed from medieval customs and aesthetics. From the writings of the theoreticians of the middle ages we can determine that there was a real emotional value in the use of certain modes, at least for the people of that era. Some chant melodies, too, contain passages which are explicable only in the light of the expressive intent of the composer. One such piece is the offertory Ascendit, in which the opening passages leave no doubt as to the fact [43] that the Lord did ascend into Heaven. We may try to protest that no word painting is intended by this rising passage, but if so, it is hard to explain why there is no other passage of similar structure anywhere else in the chant repertoire. Another example of the use of contrast and intensity to bring out textual values may be seen in the communion verse Dicit Dominus. It begins with a simple formula and cadence on the words "The Lord says:", then the words "Fill up the water-jars and take them to the chief steward" are set to two characteristic sixth mode formulae, the second resembling the ornate psalm tone in its simplicity. The words "When the chief steward had tasted the water made into wine," continue the quiet, impersonal type of "adornment" music. The words "he said to the bridegroom" are somewhat more insistent. Then the culminating speech of the steward: "You have saved the good wine until now," are set to a soaring, ornate melody, obviously intended to contrast with the simple phrases of statement which precede it. The emphasis on the essence of the miracle is further heightened by the anticlimactic statement which concludes the piece, set to an almost syllabic formula: "This was the first sign which Jesus made before his disciples." This is a simple case of a composer's deliberately selecting a form and order which would best bring out the text. Obviously this is not mere adornment.
As examples from other music, we have the expressive use of devices such as the chromatically descending bass in Bach's Crucifixus of the B Minor Mass, or the opening chorus of the Cantata Jesu, Thou My Weary Spirit, or countless other works; the distant modulations of Handel's recitatives and similar procedures. Yet these same composers wrote enormous quantities of music which must be classified as forming a great part of the known repertoire of really objective music. Was it not Bach who brought the fugue to its greatest perspectives, together with many other polyphonic and purely objective techniques? The Baroque composers wrote what suited the purpose and scope of each work in its turn, sometimes producing objective music, sometimes highly subjective music, sometimes music which [44] changes from one facet to another in the course of a single composition or group of compositions.
The classical composers were not less flexible. Mozart has given us splendid examples of music which in no way attempts to express its texts, but merely to adorn them. This is so true that many of his great Masses which we hear today in concert are written in the athletic style of his symphonies, with the voice lines closely following those of his comic operas. This is no obstacle to their achieving greatness, and it provides us with splendid examples of the application of a single style of music to a number of texts of sharply contrasting meanings and potential emotions. We might compare, for example, the fugal Kyrie of Mozart's Requiem in its purely objective and structural declamation, with the emotional setting of the offertory Domine Jesu Christe of the same work.
Even in works of the late nineteenth century, dominated to a great extent by the so-called romantic spirit, we find excellent examples of fundamentally objective and structural music. We might mention the fugal works of the Brahms Requiem and the finale to his Fourth Symphony, the similar contrapuntal structures of the French composers of that day and other works of that type.
Later, in the early twentieth century, while Debussy was writing romantic music of his own, men like Milhaud, Satie and Stravinsky were working in more objective lines. Satie's music for Socrate is a good example of a style which is as independent of the events and text which accompany it as anything ever composed.
In contrast, we have twentieth century composers who write from an admittedly expressive or subjective viewpoint. We could mention Barber, Menotti, Honegger, Bartok and others. Honegger has spoken a great deal of his viewpoints. Like Schoenberg, he was a twentieth-century romantic, of a sort. He viewed his works in reaction against Stravinskian objectivity. In his opinion, music can be expressive, and "if the worse elements are not improved, at least the good will [45] remain and will be complete in itself, a vehicle of a human or divine meaning. A really 'objective' music ought to be able to stand on its own, without explanation. Why, then, does Stravinsky give so many? Honegger is convinced that music can convey great messages or more intimate ones, and his works, such as the Symphonie Liturgique, are not afraid of giving sub-titles . . . " Honegger's recent death removed only one of the many proponents of this "affective" kind of modern music. There are many others, many of them composers of first rank, who continue his aesthetic viewpoints. There are many others, too, who, without being extremists and without feeling themselves obliged to theorize about what they compose, utilize obviously expressive means in setting a text, even a Latin liturgical text, whenever it suits their purpose.
If our present-day music is more suited to liturgical ideals than the music of the Baroque era or that of the nineteenth century, it is because of three very important factors:
1. It is more concise and compact in its forms than most Baroque works would permit, and it is often of lyric rather than dramatic style, which is the principal distinction between it and classical music. In short, the present-day "sense of movement" is both direct and relatively brief as compared with 18th or 19th century music.
2. Today many composers are working with particular emphasis on liturgical compositions. This means that the new sounds and styles of our modern music will be associated from the outset with the church and its ceremonies. There will then be little danger that church music will later on bring to mind suggestions of the theater or the ballroom, as was the case when the 19th century composer, who wrote primarily for concerts or the opera, tried to apply his dramatic and romantic style to the liturgy.
[46] 3. Contrary to the notion implied by Father Schuler, the composer of today is perhaps more aware of the text and its meanings than were the composers of the Baroque and romantic periods. The obstacle to the use of the masses of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, etc., in the liturgy is formed by the intrusion of concert style in pieces which should have been conceived on other lines if they were to be used in church. In other words, the texts are treated much like any other text, secular or sacred, with no special consideration of the milieu in which they are to be sung. The music is great . . . among the greatest ever written, but it is not functional, at least in regard to the proportions and scope of the Roman liturgy.
Today our composers may use expressive devices more conservatively in their masses than they do in their secular works, but in a representative handful of works which lie before this author at this very moment, expressive devices are very apparent. In a beautiful four-part a capella mass by one of our most talented Catholic composers, we note, in passing, the brilliant treatment of the Glorificamus te, the Tu solus Altissimus (containing the highest note in the piece), the Hosanna in excelsis, and similar passages, in contrast with the more delicate treatment of the Et incarnatus est and like passages. The piece also contains a great quantity of purely objective music, too, which shows the range of style in a composer of real mastery.
Volumes could be written on this important subject, but it would be better for the sincere church musician to take upon himself the rewarding task of becoming familiar with our present-day church music first-hand. Father Schuler has some excellent words to say in that regard, as he does on other points, lest we appear to be over-critical of his remarks. The main thing is that we listen to as much music as we can. Whether or not the reader choose to adopt Father Schuler's viewpoints or those of this writer, or other entirely different ones, is not as important as his duty to his art and his Church to familiarize himself, retaining an open mind, with all new sounds and styles in church music. Naturally there is a lot of inept and weakly-conceived [sic] music [47] in the avant-garde repertoire. The experienced musician, however, will develop his taste in this aspect of the art just as he developed it in the sphere of traditional music, that is, by listening and evaluation over the course of many years.
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Source: J. Robert Caroll, "Contemporary Music and the Liturgy," The Gregorian Review 4, no. 6 (November-December 1957): 32–47.
Thursday, November 7, 2019
The Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina (1957)
[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.
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Footnotes:
1. Motu Proprio of St. Pius X, November 22, 1903.
2. Encyclical Musicae Sacrae
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Source: Msgr. Fiorenzo Romita, "The Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina," The Gregorian Review 4, no. 4 (July-August 1957): 8–28.
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.
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.
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