It is a bad sign when one feels out of harmony with one's best influences.
Mrs. Holston required her husband's attendance, and Captain Vane must do the honors of the island to her sister. He was a man of artistic perceptions and of accurate knowledge; and Lady Sackvil's capacities were of precisely the kind to draw these out. Here was the great danger. Mary, though intelligent and sympathetic, could never be any thing more than a good listener; Amelia aroused every faculty within him to full life. The day at Torcello did more harm than many months could undo.
WRITTEN ON ALL SAINTS' DAY, 1869.
II.
"I do not believe in giving the best music to the devil," said a friend while holding with us an amicable discussion on the subject which forms the heading of this paper.
"You quote John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist sect," we replied. "Nevertheless, we agree both with him and you. We do not believe in giving any music whatever to the devil."
"I would say," returned our friend, "that the best music ought to be given to God."
"Most assuredly," said we; "and the poorest too. Why not?"
"I mean," our friend explained, "that in the public worship of God the best music should be used that can be obtained."
"You reëcho our own sentiments," we rejoined. "But will you please to define what you call the best?"
"Oh! nothing simpler," replied our friend. "That music is the best which is the most agreeable."
We murmured something about "de gustibus," when our friend prudently added, "to the occasion."
"And the occasion is—" we suggested.
"Is divine worship," continued our friend. "Where the soul is instructed by the divine truths the holy offices of the Church impart, and inspired with sentiments now of prayer, now of praise, now of holy joy, now of penitence, now of lamentation, and so forth."
"Well said!" we exclaimed. "You have again spoken our own mind. But have you ever heard such music?"
"I have heard some very charming music in my time," answered our friend cautiously.
"Exactly answering to your definition?"
"Well, no. I cannot say exactly answering to my definition."
"We have been more fortunate than you," said we. "It has been our lot to hear very charming music, exactly answering to your definition."
"Where?" demanded our friend earnestly.
"In many churches and monasteries of Europe," we replied.
"What was its style and character?" inquired our friend.
"The Gregorian Chant, pure and undefiled."
Our friend honorably closed the discussion by reiterating his definition and regretting his lack of experience.
In a former article we endeavored to bring before our readers such proofs of the statement we made, that the use of modern music in the ritual service of the Church was both improper and illegal, as we thought a very slight examination of the subject would suggest. These proofs were, however, not requisite, since it is a patent fact that such music is an innovation on the universal traditionary use of the Gregorian chant; an innovation, to judge from the countries where it has crept in and supplanted the old ritual song, that is the result of a religious taste vitiated by the influences of a spirit which, if not precisely Protestant, is, to say the least, worldly, anti-Christian, and therefore anti-Catholic. If there be any, then, who prefer music of this character to the authorized chant, it is necessary for them to show good reasons for the liberty they take in using it, or why an immediate return should not be made to what is, at any rate, lawful and ordained, if it be nothing more. In England, where the ancient Catholic spirit is again reviving, and a marked return to the old paths is observable both in and out of the Church, the subject of church music has received an attention and awakened an amount of investigation second only to that devoted to the dogmas of faith. And we may here remark that this recent study of the church chant is in no sense conducted in the spirit of simple antiquarian research—as it were, to bring to light buried fragments of a beautiful or useful institute characteristic of a former age, for the admiration of the curious—but in the express intent of reinstating the ancient church song to its rightful place in the holy sanctuaries of sacrifice and prayer.
That the Church has no notion of giving up the Gregorian chant, but, on the contrary, that she earnestly desires its complete restoration in those countries where it has fallen into disuse, we hold to be entirely beyond question. Whatever concessions to the poverty of resources, or to peculiar local circumstances, for the occasional use of modern music, the hierarchy may think it prudent to make, is a subject for the consideration of those who believe themselves to be in such a position as to need these concessions. What is certain is, that the Church by the mouth of her pastors has directed the universal use of the Gregorian chant, and as universally condemned the use of our modern music.
Knowing, however, that the healing of every sore takes time as well as medicine, we admit that in many places this much-needed reformation cannot be instantaneously made. With us in the United States, the clergy, as a body, have but a slight acquaintance, either theoretically or practically, with the church chant; and knowing, as we do from experience, what false and barbaric executions of it they have been condemned to suffer in the course of their ecclesiastical education, and from which they have been naturally led to form their judgments concerning it, we do not wonder at the wide-spread prejudice that exists against its use, and the opposition to its introduction that is met with, even at their hands. That our laity have never given expression to their own sentiments in its regard is simply due to their complete ignorance and total inexperience of the whole subject. All fears, therefore, of offending the people or of alienating them from the solemn offices of the Church, on account of the banishment of florid music and the introduction of plain chant, are, as yet, groundless.
Esteeming it as a matter of great moment, and urged by oft-repeated solicitations on the part of their hierarchy, the clergy in England and Ireland have, for several years past, been devoting their energies to carry out the wishes of their superiors, and devise some means to ameliorate the condition of church music, acknowledged to have, with them as with us, gradually degenerated since the Reformation of the sixteenth century.
As far back as 1849, an effort was made, with this end in view, to supply proper singers in the churches, at the head of which was the Cardinal, then Bishop Wiseman. The vicars-apostolic in synod had decreed, "Fœmineæ voces ne audiantur in choro," hoping to gradually induce a return to the established discipline of the Church. The present Archbishop of Westminster, referring to this in a letter, says,
"Unfortunately, this decree has not been carried out. I can only suppose that the causes which brought in this deviation have prevailed to obtain its toleration until such time as we shall be able to do better. A sudden order to remove women singers, while as yet we have no boys trained to take their places, would be inconvenient and inconsiderate. I have not thought it right to issue any such order. But all that I can effect by the strongest expression of desire and persuasion I shall endeavor to effect."
In a circular letter to his clergy, dated May 8th, 1869, the archbishop prohibits the employment of women singers in all choirs to be newly formed.
We can well understand the end had in view by this order for the exclusion of female voices from the choir. To us it is, in effect, an order for the exclusion of all figured music, and the restoration of plain chant. The archbishop, however, seems to allow the possibility of the composition of "masses which, while they admit the full compass and perfection of modern musical science, exclude all that is secular or theatrical, by retaining the gravity and majesty of our ecclesiastical and sacred tradition." This is, however, only a concession; for he had just before written, "When once tried by experience, the grave, sweet, majestic, intellectual music of the Church will win all who are now in favor of a less ecclesiastical style."
The hope expressed by Archbishop Manning, that masses would be composed for male voices only, and of sufficiently grave character to suit the services of the Church, was suggested, doubtless, by some quite respectable essays of this kind made on the Continent, and offered to the Congress of Malines at its late sessions, as well by the labors in this direction of the Rev. Canon Oakeley, to whom his letter on this subject was addressed. This reverend gentleman has been the rector of a London parish for eighteen years, and has never admitted a female into his choir, although the perfection of the musical department in his church has received many high encomiums. He supplies the soprano parts by boys' voices, to the cultivation of which he has devoted a great deal of energy. The character of his church music is as follows: At High Mass, whatever is de rigueur for the Sunday or festival is sung strictly according to the Roman Gradual, save those parts which may be ranged under the title of Ordinarium Missæ, namely, the Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. These portions are not as a rule chosen from the Gregorian chant, but are morceaux of selected modern music. His Vesper and Compline service is wholly Gregorian, as given in the Vesperale Romanum. We believe that, encouraged by his success in this partial reformation, many priests in Great Britain have followed his example. We shall have occasion to speak of this matter and give in another paper some extracts of the canon's opinion of the feasibility and effectiveness of boy singers.
Taking the hint thrown out by his grace the Archbishop of Westminster, several skilled musicians have already published a number of masses, revised and corrected to suit the late "Instructions" given by the cardinal vicar to Roman composers and singers, with a view to restrain the attempts made even there to introduce modern music. We do not pretend to criticise these simplified masses in this place. All we desire to do is to call attention to the significance of the movement toward musical reformation. Whether second-rate musical compositions are better than the authorized chant, we think is questionable.
The original masses, composed in the same intent, which competed for the handsome prizes offered by the late Catholic Congress of Malines, possess much artistic merit; perhaps a little too much, if intended for popular use.
Wholly converted, as we are, in heart and mind, to the exclusive use of plain chant, we nevertheless commend these well-meant efforts. They are efforts in the right direction, and similar ones, we doubt not, must be made with us before the ancient discipline of the Church concerning her chant will prevail.
Something, at least, can be done, and without delay. We cannot see what possible excuse we have any longer to offer for not singing the Introit, the Gradual, Offertory, and Communion at High Mass. These parts of the Mass are quite as essential, in the mind of the Church, as the Kyrie, the Credo, the Sanctus, or the Agnus Dei. If we are able to procure the execution of most difficult compositions for these latter portions, we are surely quite as well able to procure the chanting of the former. It may be said that, if these now neglected parts be sung as they should be, and can only effectively be, in Gregorian chant, it is possible one of these different styles of music would suffer much by contrast with the other. To this we agree; but which one will be the sufferer, our objector and ourself might think differently. Such a mixture has, however, been considered, on the whole, preferable by some in England who have adopted it. Says a writer in The Dublin Review, "We may remark that if it be true that a constant recurrence of the same unison masses, Sunday after Sunday, would tax the patience of our people, so, on the other hand, that limited round of figured masses to which it has been the fashion to confine the choirs of almost all our churches, is found by experience to be, if any thing, more tiring still." The writer adds, "We ought to enlarge our stock of mass music." We think it were better to render passably the stock we already possess. He continues, "We consider that where success has attended the efforts of clergy and choirs, to render the services of the Church noble, edifying, and attractive, it has been by the combination we have described; and to take one instance—it is to this, and to the ecclesiastical feature of a choir of boys and men chanting Vespers, etc., in their proper place in church, that we attribute the fact that the church over which Canon Oakeley presides has become the centre of so much interest. And when we mention that solemn Vespers and Benediction are sung in this Church, on all days of devotion, with as much correctness and beauty as on Sundays, and that a considerable number of the faithful always assist on such occasions, we shall have given a specimen of the results which may be expected to follow elsewhere, if a like arrangement be adopted."
We know that there is always difficulty in changing one's customs, but it is the mark of Catholic zeal never to shrink before any cost or sacrifice where plain duty, the glory of God, and the honor of the Holy Church are in question. All must admit that the custom of omitting any ceremony or rite essential to the due celebration of High Mass, or any other function, is a bad custom—a custom to be discontinued the moment it is in our power to do so. The bishops assembled in the late Plenary Council of Baltimore made a special decree concerning the due performance of the Vesper service. What difficulty is there here in obeying this decree both in its letter and spirit? There are enough books already published to supply the singers with the proper music for the entire service. Harmonized versions of the psalms, antiphons, and anthems have been made for the use of those singers and organists who are, as yet, ignorant of plain chant, and accustomed only to modern musical notation. If any thing be wanting in these, the demand for better and more convenient books would soon be met with the supply. Apart from their openly profane character, we do not see what possible plea can be put in for singing what is called "Musical Vespers"—for the most part, musical performances in which it would be wholly impossible to recognize the Vesper office, as strictly ordained and enjoined by the Church. The office of Vespers, according to the Roman rite, is what we are supposed to sing. We do not hesitate to say that no "Musical Vespers" ever sung in this country were in conformity to that rite. Were we to announce that fact to our music-loving Protestant friends, who frequent our churches at Vesper time, to enjoy the beautiful "Vesper service," it might possibly prove a little startling; and if they were at the pains to inquire of what character the service was which they saw and heard, what answer could we honestly make, but that it was a musical performance of garbled portions of the Vesper office, gotten up to answer for the same, with a view of pleasing the audience? Not only in High Mass, then, but also in Vespers, there is some amelioration possible to all, the results of which will not only bring our Church services more into conformity with the spirit of the Universal Church, and the decrees concerning the due celebration of divine worship issued by our hierarchy, but we are fully assured will prove most acceptable to the faithful, and contribute no little to their edification.
We have indulged in the foregoing somewhat desultory remarks before entering upon the special purpose of this paper, in hopes to direct the attention of our readers to the gravity of the subject in question, and to show that we are very far from being singular in its discussion. Whatever may be the merits of our modern music, and they certainly are of a very high order, when considered from the point of artistic combination, and the expression of certain sentiments of the soul, we hold, nevertheless, that the Gregorian chant is the true song of the Catholic Church. That it deserves this title on the score of authority, which has distinctly and universally sanctioned it, we think we have sufficiently proved; and as well that other music has been as distinctly condemned and rejected. We desire now to examine the character of the church chant, in its more intimate relations with the ritual, and its unrivalled religious expression, that its intrinsic merits may be more clearly understood and more heartily appreciated.
In the first place, the Church never enjoins any thing without good reason; and her reasons are grounded not only in the conclusions of human science, but in the perceptions of a divine inspiration. We do not hesitate to give the title of "divine" to her sacred Liturgy and Office, because we believe they were compiled with the assistance of the Holy Ghost. Is it unreasonable to suppose that her chant, proceeding, as it does, from the same source, the work of the same hands and hearts to whom she committed the labor of the composition and compilation of the words, and together accepted by her, should have had the same divine aid? The question is well put by one who has devoted much time and thought to the subject of church music:
"Can we believe that the divine assistance can have failed her so far that her work, a discordant jumble of notes, should not be fit to be sung by us in our country and century? How different were the feelings and the belief of the people during the ages of faith! The monks and other holy men who wrote those sacred chants, set themselves to work sometimes after months of holy meditation and of watching, of fasting and of prayer; and then they composed those melodies, so little appreciated now, because so little known; but to the correct religious taste of our pious ancestors in the faith, so full of heavenly harmony that they sometimes thought, and not always without reason, the angels themselves had dictated them."[145]
That the Gregorian chant is yet, as it was in former times, the true musical expression of her Divine Office, and of those portions of the liturgy of the Holy Mass, and various public functions, appointed to be sung, is plain from the fact that, in despite of all the development of the musica ficta in the hands and with the influence of its composers and lovers, the Church still obstinately adheres to those ancient melodies. What can we say but that, as the Church is the best judge of her own language of prayer and praise, so she must equally as well be of the form of its expression?
But, as we said before, the Church never acts without reason. If she accepts this form of chant in the first place, it is because such a form of melody is appropriate, and well becoming her inspired language of prayer. If she retains it through so many ages, and has no thought of changing it now, it is because the same reason still holds good.
One of the most remarkable points in the character of the Gregorian chant is the fact that it has partaken, possibly by association, of the "perennial freshness" which is so strongly marked in the celebration of the rites and ceremonies of the Church. To every people, of all ages and countries, these rites and ceremonies possess a dramatic power of the highest order. Ancient yet ever new, they never weary by repetition as fast and festival recur in the ecclesiastical year. On this an English writer says,
"The very ruggedness of the Gregorian modes serves to impart to them a character of durability. These simple melodies, as we well know from the instance of the Vesper Psalms, to mention no other, somehow never pall upon the ear, and have, in fact, a perennial freshness which we can only account for by the circumstance of their having a variety of scale which modern melodies do not possess. This, too, is proved by the well-known fact that the most beautiful chants of the modern school (and we ourselves are fain to add also the most beautiful motets, Anthems, Glorias, Credos, etc.) become unendurable by constant repetition; and for this reason we find that even dissenters have been fain to adopt the old chant in their services."
This is, to say the least, a very strong practical confirmation of the wisdom of the Holy Church in preserving a treasure so precious that even time does not waste it, or use tarnish its beauty.
A second reason assigned by the same writer, we give for what it is worth. It possesses, indeed, no little vraisemblance:
"We may look upon it in its plaintive if not mournful character in fact, as a kind of pilgrim's song, by which it would seem as if the Church would have us remember, even in the midst of our festal joys, that we are the 'Exules filii Hevæ, gementes et flentes in hâc lacrymarum valle.' It is, we may say, the grave, sweet, pathetic note which the Church puts into the mouths of her children, lamenting with the Psalmist that 'their sojourning is prolonged;' the plaintive accent in which they confess that they are strangers upon earth, and that they 'seek another, even a heavenly city.' And so Father Faber sings in his well-known hymn—itself a kind of wayfarer's song—
'While we toil on, and soothe ourselves with weeping,
Till life's long night shall break in endless love.'"
This is by no means a quaint conception of modern fancy. St. Paschasius Radpert, a monk of the abbey of Old Corby, who lived about the year 800, says,
"There is no song to be found without a tone of sadness in it; even as here below there are no joys without a mixture of sorrow; for songs of pure joy belong only to the heavenly Sion, but lamentation is the property of our earthly pilgrimage."
To us, however, the Gregorian chant is the true song of the Church, chiefly because it is essentially choral in character; by which we mean that its melodies, so simple in construction, so massive in form, and its grave and majestic rhythm, fit it eminently for execution by large bodies of singers, called in church parlance the schola, or choir.
In the discipline of the early church it was supposed that all the congregation of the faithful present at the Holy Sacrifice responded to the salutations and solemn invitations of the priest at the altar to unite with him in prayer and acts of adoration. We have before us a very old reproduction of an ancient manuscript, entitled, Ἡ Φεὶα λειτουργία τοῦ ἁγιοῦ ἀποστόλου Πέτρου, Missa Apostolica; seu, Divinum Sacrificium S. Apostoli Petri, which purports, and on good authority, to be the Mass of St. Peter. At the close of the Offertory, we read as follows; we quote the Latin version given side by side with the Greek:
"Deinde sacerdos voce clara dicit.
"Dominus vobiscum.
"Populus. Et cum spiritu tuo.
"Sacerdos. Oremus.
"Populus. Domine, miserere, ter.
"Tum sacerdos alta voce.
"Præbe, Domine, servis tuis, dexteram cœlestis auxilii, ut te toto corde perquirant, et quæ dignè postulant consequantur. Per Dominum nostrum Jesum Christum, cum quo vivis et regnas Deus noster in unitate Spiritus sancti, in sæcula.
"Populus. Amen. Sanctus Deus, sanctus fortis. Et interea dum populus dicit hymnum ter sanctum, precatur sacerdos. (Various prayers here follow, closing with the Lavabo.)
"Mox sacerdos clara voce.
"Dominus vobiscum.
"Populus. Et cum spiritu tuo.
"Sacerdos. Ostia, ostia. (Alluding to the closing of the doors and departure of the catechumens.)
"Populus. Credo in unum Deum, etc.
"Sacerdos. Stemus honeste; stemus cum reverentia, etc.
"Populus. Misericordiam; pacem.
"Sacerdos, alta voce. Hostiam tibi Domine destinatam in oblationem sanctifica, et per eam nos clementer suscipe, per Dominum, etc., per omnia sæcula sæculorum.
"Populus. Amen.
"Sacerdos. Sursum corda.
"Populus. Habemus ad Dominum.
"Sacerdos. Gratiarum actiones submittamus, Domino Deo nostro.
"Populus. Dignum et justum est."
The priest continues to chant the preface. At the close of it the people sing the Sanctus, and answer Amen when the priest has pronounced the words of consecration. The entire Pater noster is given to the people, and they respond to the usual salutations made after the communion. A side rubrical note, referring to the parts assigned to the populus or people, says, "Populi vox est et cantorum."
This manner of celebrating High Mass will seem to many of our readers as strange and obsolete; but such is precisely the manner in which one can yet hear the Holy Sacrifice in many towns and villages on the continent of Europe, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and sixty-nine; and we need hardly say with what sublime and soul-stirring effect.
We do not think it at all probable that this old form of congregational accompaniment of the Mass ever can be universally revived. Yet it must be acknowledged that no more complete, intelligent, or edifying expression of the Great Eucharistic Rite could possibly be desired.
"Shall we ever see the day," asks a writer in the old Dublin Review, "when, on entering a Catholic church during service time, we shall be struck, not with the dampening spectacle of a congregation partly composed of unbelievers in the act of enjoying the pleasure of a Sunday concert, while the remainder, with closed books in their lap, or by their side, wait patiently or impatiently till the prolonged and a hundred times repeated Amen of the Gloria or the Creed deigns to come to an end, but with the refreshing sight of an unmixed body of true worshippers, learned and ignorant, high and low, rich and poor, unostentatiously led by a select choir, engaged in heartily singing the praises of Him in whose house they are assembled? To so consoling and truly Catholic a state of things should all our reforms tend; for it will only be when it is established that we shall be able to taste the sweetness, as well as delight in the beauty and feel the grandeur of that congregational singing which so many desire, but which is incompatible with an encouragement in churches of the music of Don Giovanni, Fidelio, Lodoiska, Il Barbière, and Faust."
Were this revival of congregational singing in the mind of the Church, there could be no question about the form of melody to be applied. No one would think of looking elsewhere than to plain chant as the only practical and fitting resource in that event.
But, as in past times there was always the select schola or choir to whom the choral selections of the divine offices were committed, so at the present day it would seem to be that which the Church aims mainly at preserving. Indeed, as Dr. Lootens well observes, the very architectural dispositions of our churches, when constructed according to the ritual, suppose such a body of singers, who, being the coadjutors of the sacred ministers, are supposed to possess a quasi-ecclesiastical character, and appear in the sanctuary properly vested as clerici, or clerks, and whose demeanor, as well as singing, is of that grave and decorous character which beseems the house of God and the presence of the Holy Sacrament. The learned prelate says:
"A Protestant meeting-house is built to preach in; the nearer the minister is to the people, the better he is heard. Our churches are, first of all, places of worship. Nothing so affects the visitor who enters one of our churches in the old country as the mysterious depth of their sanctuaries. We allude here not merely to the Gothic cathedrals, but to all kind of churches, no matter to what particular order of architecture they belong. Architects, in those ancient times, would as soon have thought of planning a church without a chancel, (choir,) as of building one without a roof."
We also might well say that when any Catholic from the Continent visits Protestant England and enters one of those ancient cathedrals, once the glory and pride of Catholic England, now fallen into the hands of strangers who know not their meaning nor sacred uses; and when he sees those mysteriously deep sanctuaries, whose stalls are no longer filled, as of yore, with the devout white-robed clerics, or it may be with cowled monks, chanting the divine hours of prayer, or responding to the sacrificing priest, but with a few fashionably dressed ladies and gentlemen looking at each other across the once consecrated place, hallowed by the footsteps of saints, and praying to be delivered "from all error, heresy, and schism," (save the mark!) what an indescribable pain must wring his soul; how involuntarily the plaintive words of the Psalmist must rise upon his lips, "Super flumina Babylonis, illic sedimus, et flevimus, cum recordaremur Sion!"
Yet, let him come to our land and visit our Catholic churches—but we anticipate; it is not of the proper place for the choir, but of the choir itself we wish to speak.
A select choir of clerks, or singers vested in cassock and surplice, who, ranged in the sanctuary, chant in chorus the Asperges, the Introit, Kyrie, Gloria, Gradual, Credo, Offertory, Sanctus, Agnus Dei, Communion, and the responses of High Mass, and the antiphons, psalms, versicles, etc., at Vespers, is what the ritual supposes and expressly demands. A choir of mixed voices gathered in a gallery at the extreme end of the church, either hidden behind curtains or exposed to view, has neither been ever supposed or sanctioned by the ritual, much less the omission of nearly one half of what is ordered to be sung. When we look at the actual state of things as they are in vogue amongst us, and honestly look the ritual of the Holy Church in the face, does not our memory sometimes remind us of the reproach of Almighty God to the negligent priests of the old law?—"Non servastis præcepta sanctuarii mei;" a reflection which is not ours, but very pertinently made by the zealous American bishop whose words we have already quoted.
If, as has been well said, "Our present defective knowledge and appreciation of the liturgy is one of the indications of an enfeebled faith among a Catholic people," so we do not hesitate to affirm that a reasonable knowledge of, and constant participation in the divine offices of the Church is practically necessary to an intelligent faith in the great mysteries of religion, and the only means of keeping alive and nourishing true Catholic devotion. Prayer said in union with the Church is both the light of the understanding and the fire of divine love for the heart.
One of the directors of the seminary of St. Sulpice, in Paris, in a recent publication, entitled, Le Saint Office considéré au point de Vue de la Piété, significantly remarks:
"Quand on voit la piété se refroidir en tant d'endroits, il est naturel de craindre qu'on ne l'envoque le bon Dieu avec tant de ferveur, que le feu sacré ne languisse dans son sanctuaire. C'est le moment de se demander si les adorateurs ne seraient devenus plus froids en devenant plus rares, si le silence des temples n'a pas amené le sommeil des âmes."
When one sees piety growing cold in so many places, it is but reasonable to fear that God is invoked with so little fervor because the sacred fire is dying out in his sanctuary. It is time to ask ourselves if the worshippers have not become less devout in becoming less attentive at the services of the church; if the silence of our temples of religion has not brought on the sleep of souls.
The slightest examination of the offices of the Church will show how well they are adapted to instruction in doctrine, and for the illustration of the Gospel record and the historic acts and interior life of Christianity. We have not the time in this place, nor is it necessary, to adduce proofs of this. They whose interest in this matter we aim at arousing have a daily reminder of its truth.
That these holy offices are the fountain-head of solid, popular devotion is equally indisputable. We have nothing to replace them, nor do we care to have. We have plenty of so-called "popular devotions," admirably adapted for their special purposes; but it must be confessed that popular devotion is far below that standard of spirituality which the Church aims at inspiring; and which it is not only possible to attain, but which in ages gone by, whose grade of refinement and intellectual culture we affect to despise, was the normal standard of Catholic piety. From whence did the people draw this strong and healthy nourishment of the spiritual life? The answer will be found in the fact that the people were educated from childhood in the liturgy, and they were not, as now, for the most part spectators, but participators at the celebration of the solemn, instructive, and devout offices of the Church.
The accomplished author of the remarkable work on Christian Schools and Scholars thus writes:
"The fact is that, in one respect, the rude, ignorant peasantry of the middle ages were a great deal more learned than the pupils of our modern schools. In a certain sort of way, every child was rendered familiar with the language of the Church. From infancy they were taught to recite their prayers, the antiphons, and many parts of the ritual of the Church, in Latin, and to understand the meaning of what they learnt; and hence they became familiar with a great number of Latin words, so that a Latin discourse would sound far less strange in their ears than in those of a more educated audience of the same class in the present day. In many cases, indeed, the children who were taught in the priest's, or parochial school, learned grammar, that is—the Latin language; but all were required to learn the church chant, and a considerable number of Latin prayers, and hymns, and psalms. This point of poor-school education deserves more than a passing notice. Its result was, that the lower classes were able thoroughly to understand and heartily to take part in the rites and offices of Holy Church. The faith rooted itself in their hearts with a tenacity which was not easily destroyed, even by penal laws, because they imbibed it from its fountain source—the Church herself. She taught her children out of her own ritual, and by her own voice, and made them believers after a different fashion from those much more highly educated Catholics of the same class who, in our day, often grow up almost as much strangers to the liturgical language of the Church as the mass of unbelievers outside the fold. Can there be any incongruity more grievous than to enter a Catholic school, rich in every appliance of education, and to find that, in spite of the time, money, and method lavished on its support, its pupils are unable to understand and recite the church offices, and are untrained to take part in church psalmody? The language of the Church has, therefore, in a very literal sense, become a dead language to them, and it is from other and far inferior sources that they derive their religious instruction. Thus they are ignorant of a large branch of school education, in which the children of a ruder and darker age were thoroughly trained; no doubt, on the other hand, they know a great many things of which children in the middle ages were altogether ignorant; and the question is simply to determine which method of instruction has most practical utility in it. Without dogmatizing on this point, we may be permitted to regret that through any defect in the system of our parochial schools, Catholic congregations should in our own days be deprived of the solemn and thorough celebrations of those sacred offices which in themselves comprise a body of unequalled religious instruction; and that, in an age which makes so much of the theory of education, we should have to confess our inability to teach our children to pray and sing the prayers of the Church as the children of Catholic peasants prayed and sang them six hundred years ago. The English schools of that period enjoyed the benefit of no other inspection than that of the parish priest and the archdeacon, 'the eye of the bishop,' as he was called; and if their pupils knew little about 'monocotyledons,' the 'crustacea,' or grammatical analysis, they were able to recite their Alma Redemptoris and their Dixit Dominus with hearty, intelligent devotion.[146] They knew the order of the church service, and could sing its psalms and antiphons in the language of the church, and to her ancient tones."
The last words of this most interesting extract will spare us the trouble of insisting at any great length upon the point chiefly in question. The sacred offices of the Church, to whose due celebration and to their intelligent participation in them the faith and piety of our ancestors is in great measure to be ascribed, and the peculiar and inimitable melodies, yet, happily, undivorced from their language of prayer, ever formed one inseparable whole.
A revival of those offices in the spirit of their ancient fidelity to the ritual is, as all must allow, a revival of Gregorian chant. The project of substituting in its place a selection of solos, duets, etc., either culled from threadbare compositions of the two last centuries, notorious for their sensuousness of style and over-wrought "word-painting," or such melodies of the modern schools as our present masters are able to produce, would be unhesitatingly ridiculed on all sides.
Far be it from us to be guilty of the presumption of questioning the wisdom of the Church in permitting to the clergy the individual and private recitation of the Divine Office; but it is beyond dispute that so much of it as is enjoined to be performed publicly, in choir, on Sundays and festivals, is not absolved by the bravura singing of some "choice musical selections" in an organ-gallery, and the private recitation of the real office meanwhile by a lonely celebrant in the sanctuary. Moreover, the people are thereby greatly hindered in their devotions and deprived utterly of the spiritual fruit the sacred office so abundantly affords. If we gave the people a chance, we would very soon see how joyfully they would sing their Credo, and heartily chant their Dixit Dominus, as of old. "I do not like the Vespers in —— street," a well-instructed servant was lately overheard to say; "it is nothing but a concert of four opera-singers, and I'm all astray while it's going on. Nobody seems to make it out but the Protestant ladies and gentlemen, who do nothing but talk about it all the time. Give me the singing at Father ——'s church, where all the clergy sing, and where I can sing in the Tantum Ergo myself at benediction, if I like."
What we are arguing for is a strict, rubrical celebration of High Mass and Vespers, the two public offices enjoined upon the clergy in this country. When the rubrics for these offices are observed to the letter, we shall have no fear for the fate of plain chant, which has proved itself by the experience of so many centuries to be the only adequate and satisfying expression of the spirit of prayer that breathes through all the solemn ritual service of the Holy Church.
The words of the pious and erudite Benedictine monk, Dom Gueranger, Abbot of Solesmes, are again ringing in our ears. We cannot refrain from closing our article with a quotation from the preface to his Liturgical Year, the beauty of which will be a sufficient apology for its length:
"The prayer of the Church is the most pleasing to the ear and heart of God, and therefore the most efficacious of all prayers. Happy, then, is he who prays with the Church, and unites his own petitions with those of this Spouse, who is so dear to her Lord that he gives her all she asks. It was for this reason that our Blessed Saviour taught us to say our Father, and not my Father; give us, forgive us, deliver us, and not give me, forgive me, deliver me. Hence, we find that, for upward of a thousand years, the Church, who prays in her temples seven times in the day, and once again during the night, did not pray alone. The people kept her company, and fed themselves with delight on the manna which is hidden under the words and mysteries of the divine liturgy. Thus initiated into the sacred cycle of the mysteries of the Christian year, the faithful, attentive to the teachings of the Spirit, came to know the secrets of eternal life; and without any further preparation, a Christian was not unfrequently chosen by the bishops to be a priest, or even a bishop, that he might go and pour out on the people the treasures of wisdom and love which he had drunk in at the very fountain-head.
"But for now many past ages, Christians have grown too solicitous about earthly things to frequent the holy vigils and the mystical hours of the day. Long before the rationalism of the sixteenth century became the auxiliary of the heresies of that period by curtailing the solemnity of the divine service, the days for the people's uniting exteriorly with the prayer of the church had been reduced to Sundays and festivals. During the rest of the year, the solemn and imposing grandeur of the liturgy was gone through, and the people took no share in it. Each new generation increased in indifference for that which their forefathers in the faith had loved as their best and strongest food. Social prayer was made to give way to individual devotion. Chanting, which is the natural expression of the prayers and even of the sorrows of the Church, became limited to the solemn feasts. That was the first sad revolution in the Christian world.
"But even then Christendom was still rich in churches and monasteries, and there, day and night, was still heard the sound of the same venerable prayers which the Church had used through all the past ages. So many hands lifted up to God drew down upon the earth the dew of heaven, averted storms, and won victory for those who were in battle. These servants of God, who thus kept up an untiring choir that sang the divine praises, were considered as solemnly deputed by the people, which was still Catholic, to pay the full tribute of homage and thanksgiving due to God, his Blessed Mother, and the saints. These prayers formed a treasury which belonged to all. The faithful gladly united themselves in spirit to what was done. When any affliction, or the desire to obtain a special favor, led them to the house of God, they were sure to hear, no matter at what hour they went, that untiring voice of prayer which was for ever ascending to heaven for the salvation of mankind. At times they would give up their worldly business and cares, and take part in the office of the church, and all still understood, at least in a general way, the mysteries of the liturgy.
"Then came the Reformation, and, at the onset, it attacked the very life of Christianity—it would put an end to the sacrifice of man's praise of his God. It strewed many countries with the ruins of churches; the clergy, the monks, and virgins consecrated to God were banished or put to death; and in the churches which were spared the divine offices were not permitted. In other countries, where the persecution was not so violent, many sanctuaries were devastated and irremediably ruined, so that the life and voice of prayer grew faint. Faith, too, was weakened; rationalism became fearfully developed; and now our own age seems threatened with what is the result of these evils—the subversion of all social order.
"For, when the Reformation had abated the violence of its persecution, it had other weapons wherewith to attack the Church. By these, several countries, which continued to be Catholic, were infected with that spirit of pride which is the enemy of prayer. The modern spirit would have it that prayer is not action—as though every good action done by man were not a gift of God; a gift which implies two prayers: one of petition, that it may be granted; and another of thanksgiving, because it is granted! There were found men who said, Let us abolish all the festival days of God from the earth; and then came upon us that calamity which brings all others with it, and which the good Mardochai besought God to avert from his nation, when he said, Shut not, O Lord, the mouths of them that sing to thee!
"But, by the mercy of God, we have not been consumed; there have been left remnants of Israel; and the number of believers in the Lord has increased. What is it that has moved the heart of our God to bring about this merciful conversion? Prayer, which had been interrupted, has been resumed. Numerous choirs of virgins consecrated to God, and, though far less in number, of men who have left the world to spend themselves in the divine praises, make the voice of the turtle-dove heard in our land. This voice is every day gaining more power; may it find acceptance from our Lord, and move him to show the sign of his covenant with us, the rainbow of reconciliation! May our venerable cathedrals again reëcho those solemn formulæ of prayer which heresy has so long suppressed! May the faith and munificence of the faithful reproduce the prodigies of those past ages, which owed their greatness to the acknowledgment, which all, even the very civic authorities, paid to the all-powerfulness of prayer!
"For a long time a remedy has been devised for an evil which was only vaguely felt. The spirit of prayer, and even prayer itself, has been sought for in methods, and prayer-books, which contain, it is true, laudable, yea pious thoughts, but, after all, only human thoughts. Such nourishment cannot satisfy the soul, for it does not initiate her into the prayer of the Church. Instead of uniting her with the prayer of the Church it isolates her. Of this kind are so many of those collections of prayers and reflections which have been published, under different titles, during the last two hundred years, and by which it was intended to edify the faithful, and suggest to them, either for hearing mass, or going to the sacraments, or keeping the feasts of the church, certain more or less commonplace considerations and acts, always drawn up according to the manner of thought and sentiment peculiar to the author of each book. Each manual had consequently its own way of treating these important subjects. To Christians already formed to piety, such books as these would, indeed, serve a purpose, especially as nothing better was offered to them; but they had not influence sufficient to inspire with a relish and spirit of prayer such as had not otherwise received them.
"But this liturgical prayer would soon become powerless were the faithful not to take a real share in it, or, at least, not to associate themselves to it in heart. It can heal and save the world, but only on the condition that it be understood. Be wise, then, ye children of the Catholic Church, and get that largeness of heart which will make you pray the prayer of your mother. Come, and buy your share in it, fill up that harmony which is so sweet to the ear of God. Where would you obtain the spirit of prayer if not at its natural source? Let us remind you of the exhortation of the apostle to the first Christians: Let the peace of Christ rejoice in your hearts—let the word of Christ dwell in you abundantly, in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms, hymns, and spiritual canticles, singing in grace in your hearts to God."
BY A GRANDMOTHER.
To one who has long been accustomed to a retired and solitary life, an occasional glimpse of the busy world and its ways, a peep "through the loopholes of the retreat," has a relish and an interest scarcely to be appreciated by the actual participants in the turmoil and bustle of those scenes.
In the quiet routine of rural life, undisturbed by great excitements, and to a great measure removed from the influences of stirring events, it is almost impossible to keep pace with the changes that are constantly taking place in the great outer world. I think this must be more especially true of our American society than of any other nation. We are such a restless race, so impatient of monotony, so eager for excitement and variety, that what is most in vogue to-day is forgotten to-morrow, and the most earnest pursuits of the present are liable to be rapidly superseded by others of a widely different nature.
After an absence of only a few months from the social circle with which it is my delight occasionally to mingle, I often find myself much in the predicament of poor Rip Van Winkle, after his long repose in "Sleepy Hollow," and dare not, upon my reappearance, open my lips until I have listened long enough to catch the key-note, as it were, of the topics at present engaging attention, lest my remarks and inquiries may appear as ill-timed and excite as much surprise as did those of that redoubtable victim of vagrancy and the broomstick.
Among all the changes that have come over our American world, since we who are now grandmothers could call ourselves young, there are none more utterly astounding—perhaps because, having long claimed our careful attention, they are more familiar and interesting to us—than those embraced in the household and home economy. Now, although I am not disposed to undervalue the improvements of modern times, or to decry the advance of modern ideas in other departments, I am wholly unwilling to yield the palm to modern housekeeping. In spite of every advantage furnished by the superior appliances of these days, and every facility offered by the inventive genius of our people in labor-saving machinery adapted to each department of domestic life, I insist that our housekeepers are inferior in all the qualities that contribute to the comfort of home to their mothers, and that their mothers were less efficient than their grandmothers. There has been a gradual but steady decline in the art of housekeeping, and a more rapid but equally constant increase in the expense thereof. Indeed, this last item looms up in dimensions and glares upon us with an aspect nothing less than appalling to dames like myself, who cherish antiquated notions on these subjects.
"Henry, why in the world do you not marry?" I said the other day to a highly-esteemed young friend, whom I had known from his childhood, and who is richly endowed, as I well know, with every quality necessary to make a home happy. "Why in the world do you not marry? It is a positive wrong to society, that so much domestic virtue as you possess should remain unappropriated. You are now well established in business, with every prospect of success, and you really ought to be thinking of making a home for yourself."
"I wish I dare indulge such an aspiration," he replied with something very like a regretful sigh; "but, to tell you the truth, such a step as taking a wife to myself under my present circumstances would be ruinous. My business is indeed, as you say, well established, and—within certain, not very extensive, limits—prosperous. By close attention and strict fidelity to its interests, diligent industry, and careful economy, I realize annually a very comfortable income; not large, but, under these conditions, quite sure; as years advance, this will probably increase slowly and surely. Now, if I were to marry, just imagine what a load of expense would be incurred at once! You know as well as I the manner of life I should be required to adopt, by any young lady of the class among whom I should look for a wife; and I really am not in a position to incur such a burden now, nor can I hope to be for a long time to come."
This was said in a tone of despondency and deep feeling, and I could not but sympathize with my young friend, compelled thus reluctantly to suppress the dearest aspirations of youth; nor could I avoid deploring the exigencies that constrain the greater portion of worthy young men in our country, to relinquish the hope of a happy home of their own, which would be their strongest stimulant to exertion and their best shield against temptation.
It is long since I have been in the habit of witnessing the gambols of the gay world; but I happened not long since to peep in upon a sort of fandango at the house of one of my friends, and, bless my heart, what costumes! My surprise would beggar description. I happened to be standing near the mistress of the house, and remarked to her that I was not aware this was to be a fancy party.
"And it is not," she replied.
"But you do not mean to tell me," I exclaimed in dismay, "that these are the ordinary costumes for full dress at parties?"
"Of course they are. Why not?" she very innocently answered.
I ventured no further remark or inquiry, but retired with my own quiet cogitations into a silent corner. Presently a sprightly young lady of whom I am very fond, and who is foolish enough to cherish a great fancy for me, came tripping up to my retreat, her face all shining with gayety and goodness. "Tell me, my dear," said I, "why you young ladies wear your pockets outside your dress, and in such an inconvenient place, and why you wear your skirts pinned up at a party, just as we used to wear them when about our housework?"
"Oh! those are not our pockets; they are paniers; and it is the present style to loop up the skirts this way."
"But, my child, can you tell me how many superfluous yards of silk are required to make skirts in this way, and to furnish these festoons?"
"We do not count by yards," said she, laughing; "but this is not an expensive dress. It cost only eighty dollars, the making and all!" And she glided away to join her young companions. So much for the philosophy of a young girl in a simple country village!
"No wonder," thought I, "that Harry does not dare to marry!"
Now here was this dear girl—lovely, accomplished, beautiful, intelligent, and fascinating—a perfect charm in society, after her fashion; but a wife? Why a man might as well marry a butterfly!
There is certainly something sadly "out of joint" in the times. The jarring and jolting of domestic machinery betrays loose screws, if not more fatal defects, somewhere in its construction. The subject is attracting general attention, eliciting general complaint, and calling forth the best energies of many minds in its discussion. Much talent has been engaged in the consideration of evils and defects, which it is asserted pervade every branch of domestic economy and every part of society. Remedial measures which have recently been proposed are also attracting much notice.
Not long ago a learned judge, lamenting the modern defects in female education, concluded with the consoling remark, "Yes, our girls are badly educated; but our boys will never find it out!"
Ah my learned friend! you see our young Henrys, though they may not detect the cause, are fully alive to the consequences.
What are these defects, what their remedy, and what the proper
Now, it seems to me that every mother who is blessed with a daughter should begin with the first dawn of reason to instil into that daughter's mind the consciousness that she has something to do—that there is work awaiting every step of her advancing progress from childhood to youth, from youth to womanhood, and from womanhood to old age.
The patronage of boarding-houses, which are entirely antagonistic to the first idea of a home, should be discarded. The daughter should be required to participate daily with her mother in household cares and duties, even while pursuing her studies.
Herein lies the difference between "modern ideas" and the antique régime. Here is the fault of the "century," so deplorable in its results, so widely lamented; and here—by the most culpable neglect to rear our daughters in a manner to fit them for the high responsibilities and duties of home—has the equilibrium between the "producer and consumer," so much talked of, been lost.
Education, like charity, should begin, be carried on, and be perfected at home, or it can be nothing elsewhere. The duties of women as "producers," in modern times, are identical with those of their grandmothers; and it is only in the family, within the dear and sheltered nook of home, that they can find profitable and legitimate exercise.
Under the ancient system—and it certainly could show as noble results as the modern mode has been able to achieve—the wife was the queen of a little kingdom, and her highest ambition was to rule within its sacred precincts wisely and well. If the resources and revenues were scanty, her study was so to manage the expenditures as to leave a margin on the credit side for future emergencies, or for increase of capital. If God gave her children, she accepted the inestimable boon with heartfelt thanksgivings, took up the holy office with all its tender cares and duties, as the crown of her glory, and presided with matronly dignity over the best and highest interests of the young immortals committed to her keeping, training her little ones diligently "in the way in which they should walk." She welcomed gracefully whatever adjuncts were furnished by schools and books, but never dreamed of abating her maternal vigilance, or trusting to these as substitutes for home culture. Her children were daily questioned, their proficiencies praised, their deficiencies or indolence in their studies reproved. Consequently she did not fall into that other dream, too common in these days, of going out from home to find something to do, because schools and systems had taken her children off her hands, and removed them beyond the scope of her jurisdiction.
Schools did not release her from the duty of watching over the development of their intellects. Sewing-machines did not stitch their garments; trained servants in every department were not at hand to perform the housework indifferently well. Verily, between one interest and another, our grandmothers had work enough to do!
We think any young wife and mother who will ask this question with sincerity and thoughtfulness, arousing the energies of her mind to the importance of considering it well and arriving at a true conclusion, will give an affirmative reply. There is no sphere in which a woman can be so profitable a "producer" as at home, and that simply by practising the old-fashioned virtues of "looking well to the ways of her household, and eating not the bread of idleness." By regulating carefully the consumption, she becomes the most efficient and lucrative "producer."
When every woman will accept this truth in its widest sense, and act accordingly, then, and not before, will the balance-sheet between "producers and consumers" be adjusted. Then will the toiling husband be matched by the industrious and frugal wife. Then will he return after the toils of the day, not to a palace glittering in cold splendor, and rivalling in the chilly magnificence of gew-gaws and trinkets a jeweller's show-window, but to a cozy and cheerful home, where "books that are books" abound, where the smile of an intelligent companion greets his return, and a sympathizing friend is ever ready to enter into all his cares and perplexities, to assist with wise counsels, and encourage with brave words.
It is certain that there is great need of a thorough change in the domestic discipline of the homes in our country, if a tithe of what is predicated as to existing evils be true. If our young women have really, as a general rule, become so frivolous in their characters, so fond of their ease, and so expensive in their habits, that our prudent young men dare not assume the burden of a family, or, in doing so, can have no assurance that they are providing for themselves the comforts and the blessings which should be embraced in the sacred inclosure of home, the consequences to society must be utterly ruinous. The family is the foundation of society, and only in well-ordered and happy homes can its well-being and stability be established and sustained.
Deplorable as are the pictures which are drawn, discouraging as are the statements we daily hear of domestic confusion and misery, it is not to be admitted or believed that our American women are so swallowed up in a vortex of fashion and folly, or so enfeebled by habits of indolence, that they cannot be awakened from their fatal dream.
There is really in our national character too much intelligence, though it may be slumbering; too much energy, though it may be dormant through apathy, to permit us to sink hopelessly and helplessly into social chaos. It is only necessary to awaken the public mind to the importance of the subject, and to arouse American women to united and persevering efforts to retrieve the past, and bring about a better state of affairs in the future, and the work of reform is on the sure road to accomplishment. This is the only "coöperative" agency from which we may hope for beneficial results. No new plans or patent machinery will enable the wife, the mother, the housekeeper, to shirk her duty or transfer the irksome task to other shoulders. She must simply "seek out the old paths, and walk therein," humbly, diligently, at whatever sacrifice of her own ease or endurance of painful trials, which must always be the heritage of the true woman, but which, met and endured in the true womanly spirit, are richer than earthly treasures, and will secure rewards more unfailing than earthly glories.
In no other way can this painful domestic problem ever find a fitting solution.